


Kintsukuroi

by CrushedRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Gen, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushedRose/pseuds/CrushedRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kintsukuroi: to repair with gold or silver lacquer.  In understanding to say that the piece is better for being broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greg and Mycroft’s relationship was over the moment Greg found out about the betrayal that Sherlock indeed was alive.  
> This is an expansion on 2 chapters of my other work 366 Coming full circle. Chapter 25 and 26 to be precise. (Family secrets and C is for....)
> 
> Also a big thank you to Matomato for all the lovely comments. 
> 
> Last thing , as always I go nuts over comments and corrections over any grammar mistakes

1.1  
It's been a month since he walked out of the Diogenes club, a month since he walked out of Mycroft's life. He was so angry. Angry and frustrated. At everything and everyone. He was snappy, sarcastic, and just a little below the thin line between mean and rude.  
Mycroft did try to call him a few times, he wasn't sure whether to apologise, explain or asking if he was all right.  
He did remember the emotions like it happened a day ago. Seeing Sherlock materialise out of the darkness like that, he shocked himself with the hug, considering he didn't felt like he had any control over his body.  
"Those things would kill you, you know."  
The words kept reverberating throughout his mind.  
'Really? Cigarettes will kill me? Not the pain of my heart being blown apart by betrayal? That wouldn't kill me? What about the idea of treachery from Mycroft and Sherlock? Oh no. That's completely fine and well. It's some tobacco and nicotine in rolled up paper that's apparently the murderer here.'  
He was so tired. With a soft thud he fell down onto the bed, and he could've sworn that he committed murder of a spring somewhere inside the mattress. If that pointy obstacle in his hip, is anything to go by. He missed his old bed, the one he and Mycroft used to share. It was fluffy and warm and comfortable. It was like a cotton -very expensive Egyptian cotton - true love hug every night. This bed reminded him of his ex.  
He hardly remembered the walk to the Diogenes club, or the very conversation he had with Mycroft. Very short verbal conversation, a long and in depth nonverbal conversation. He knew. The bastard knew!  
He started laughed hysterically.  
"What a joke!" He was trying to comfort his partner, trying to be strong for the both of them. The sleepless nights he used to have, when the guilt was tearing him up inside. He didn't even focus on the inquest, felt like he received an award with the suspension, because that was so much more than he deserved.  
"Wait a minute..." he sat up.  
"Bloody bastard. All the times you hugged me and trying to tell me it wasn't my fault. Probably laughed behind my back!"  
"FUCK!" He yelled as loud as he could before he collapse with pain and tears. He cried till there were no more tears, just his lungs constricting causing his chest to heave.  
"This is worse than adultery My..." He whispered to the hollow and destitute room.  
Drained and empty he finally fell into a pitiful sleep in the late hours of the night.  
He woke up the next morning convinced he was dying from the bubonic plague, the symptoms were there, or at least, some of them were. With a sigh and heavy heart he walked into the bathroom to get ready for work. He hated the flat, and the yellow wall bathroom. He missed the big and spacious white bathroom he used to share with Mycroft. 

"You look like crap." Greg just scowled at Sally who shrugged and walked away. He turned to the people in the room. By now everybody is aware of the resurrection of Sherlock. The newspapers, radio stations and the television, all talking about one thing.  
They were looking at him and he could hear the whispering behind his back. Sherlock's name might be cleared, but the spot will always be on his. They would always look at him, like he was aware of everything this whole time, they would not treat him any different but the camaraderie he used to have with some of his colleagues will always be tainted. Just thinking about what he suffered and the challenges he had to get back on track with Sally angered him all over again.  
Making his mind up, he straighten his back and walked towards his office. He closed the door and practically fell down in his chair. Somewhere it all went belly up and he had no idea where to even start to get some sort of sense back.  
No one even knew about him and Mycroft, which means he had no one to whom he could talk to about all of this. Sally knew, but she still has bad feelings about a Holmes and he didn't feel like opening his heart to her about Mycroft to her. She just wouldn't understand.  
It hit him like a brick in the face. He had no one. It was a very depressing and dangerous thought. He was alone. John still blames or hate him, he is unsure which one is the winner for the moment. Both probably. He ignored him for two years and hardly acknowledged him at Baker Street the other day.  
"That was awkward to say the least." He opened the files on his desk. He needed to focus on his job, and push everything else aside. 

By Friday he was in for a surprise. As he entered his office Anthea was sitting in his chair. Whatever happens, he was ready. Straighten his shoulders he walked inside.  
"Anthea.”  
She didn’t say anything as she just looked at him. If looks could kill, there was about to be a murder in his office. The worst part was that he didn’t care. They stood staring at each other for a while, neither breaking the silence. Finally Greg exhaled and opened the door to leave. As he turned around she broke the silence.  
"Stop." Greg stopped and turned back towards her.  
"Oh it speaks." Anthea was stunned for a moment; Greg has never spoken to her like that. She composed herself before continuing.  
"Do you remember what I said about hurting him?" Greg stared at her, filled with incredulity and anger. Then he started laughing hysterically. His shoulders shook with the laughter. Anthea frowned. After he got his breath back he walked towards his desk and sat in one of the facing chairs.  
"Did he send you?"  
"No."  
"Does he know you're here?”  
"Probably.”  
"Call him.”  
"What?”  
"Now. You're phone, my phone, the land line, I don't care. Call him. "  
She hesitated for a moment then Greg pulled out his phone and dialled the man. It kept ringing until it went to voicemail. He leaned over to her.  
"Maybe we should use your phone?”  
She picked up her phone and dialled.  
"Put it on speaker please.”  
It didn't even ring twice before he picked up.  
"Anthea?”  
"Sir."  
"You're with Gregory?” Mycroft tried to make it sound like a question, but it still came out as a statement. Greg caught the barest hint of hiccup in his voice. You had to listen very closely but after being in a relationship with the man for three years and knowing him for a lot more before he knew every tone in his voice. He took a breath, he had to be strong. He needed to say what was on his mind, no going back.  
"Yes."  
Before either can say anything Gregory spoke.  
"Can you believe she's here because she warned me three years ago not to hurt you? Guess it’s time for retaliation."  
"Gregory.” The hiccup in his voice went down another tone. Greg ignored it and continued.  
"No. Don't. I asked her to call you so that you both can hear this." He turned to her.  
"Anthea you warned me not to hurt him, but I firmly believe that the two of you are in a much better position to hurt me. And get away with it. So if you are going to inflict your wrath and revenge on me, you better make sure that it hurts a hell lot more than the agony I'm carrying. I will gladly stand still as you inflict your pain and threats as long as you promised it would take away the pain of betrayal and lies that you and Mycroft been feeding me. I will welcome any bruise and broken bone if it can take away the brokenness of knowing that the man I love more than life itself, and would gladly give my life for, deemed it necessary to lie and betray me. Promise me it will take away the pain of knowing that for the three year relationship with him, two was a nest of secrets and lies. I beg you to hurt me as much as possible if you can beat some the unworthiness and utter self-hatred that I feel out. I will take the affliction if I can get my broken reputation back, if I can get my dignity and the respect of my peers back after what happened with Sherlock. I'll take it if my colleagues can look me into my eyes without pity and doubt." He stopped trying to get his breath back, his eyes locked on her. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, his voice filled with shame and grief. Mycrofts breathing was heavy over the speaker. He didn't say anything.  
Anthea eyes were filled with unshed tears. She knew that Greg never was any good with hiding his emotions, which is why Mycroft was so attracted to him. The genuineness and sincerity of Greg broke through his walls. Anthea was at the moment wishing that she wasn't the one to saw the reactions on the detective's face. She would rather be somewhere in some political debate than this office.  
As an afterthought Greg added.  
"I wished you've cheated Mycroft, maybe you have, I’ll never know. You see I’m used to that, and I’m used to be not enough so my partners seek fulfilment elsewhere. I can deal with that. But this…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to deal with this. Infidelity seems like the lesser evil here." With one last glance he wiped his eyes and left her there in his office.


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrived home he was still distraught. He hanged up his coat, and put down his small shopping bag on the kitchen table. For once he was thankful that it was one of those open plan artistic flats where everything was together and open. Only the bedroom and bathroom were closed off. Next he walked to his bedroom and undressed his work clothes and then he put on some comfortable sweatpants and an old t shirt. After that he went to the table and took out the bottle of whisky. After the day he had, he's planning on getting wasted. He was still furious. How dare Anthea threaten him, especially when you take into account who they are. As if he would ever hurt him.  
Filling his glass and taking one big sip he sat down on the couch.

  
He couldn’t help but replying the conversation in his offices. With some numbness he realised he meant what he said. Every word. He would much rather take the physical pain than the emotional pain. Plus he thinks he would've dealt with infidelity a lot better than this. After all every person he have ever been in a relationship with, at one point or another cheated on him, Mycroft so far is the exception to the rule. At least he thinks he is. He gave a cynical laugh.  
"Wouldn't surprise me." Downing his glass he refilled it and drank that one too. “No wait, I would.” Picking up the remote he turned the station to some reruns of old classic comedy shows.

The bottle was near empty when there was a knock on his door. Not in the mood he ignored it. It will go away. Five minutes later and another glass of whisky his phone rang. He decided not to answer when his eye caught the name on the screen. His heart stopped. His hands started sweating. He picked up.  
"Hello?”  
"Open the door son; we know you're in there."  
"Umm. Yeah... Sure." With great effort and unsteady feet he opened the door.

  
To Mycroft's parents.

  
He stared at them, having no idea where to start or what to say instead he just opened the door wider to let them in. As soon as the door closed Cheryl - Ann grabbed Greg and wrapped her arms around him.  
"We heard what happened and came to see how you are? We would’ve been here sooner, but knew you needed some time.”  
Greg couldn't believe his ears. They came for him? Sagging with the pain and suffering he held on to her as a new wave of emotions overtook him. Not once did he think they would do something like this for him. He liked them, and yes they accepted him, but he was their son’s partner. Mycroft. What did he tell them? Did he send them?

In that moment he didn’t care as he just held her tight. After more than a month, it really felt good to have some human contact. Not just handshakes or a clap on the shoulder, actual human contact. When she finally let go, they moved towards the sofa, he didn’t even noticed as Mycroft’s father had some shopping bags in his hand that he put on the kitchen counter.  
“Come on you, let’s get you calmed down, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look as though you are alone in this world, carrying the weight of the world, which isn’t true. You still got us, and Mycroft, even though you’re going through a rough patch."

Greg wanted to say it is a lot more than just a rough patch, but refrained. Instead he just laid his head back against the sofa while Cheryl–Ann held his hands tight in hers.  
Sherrinford picked up the glass and bottle and put in a cupboard, he went on to search the cupboards for some plates and sighed. Half of them was empty he shared a look with his wife and they both frowned. How did he survive these past few weeks with an empty fridge and cupboards? Resuming his search he managed to find some tea and mugs. Turning on the kettle he made the necessary preparations. Thereafter he unpacked the bags on the counter. He pulled out some bread and soup. Pouring some in a bowl he placed it in the microwave to warm up.  
When all was done and he rejoined them in the living room Greg was quiet but was at least looking calmer and smiling at them.  
"I'm sorry for the state of the place.”  
"Oh hush, Greg, cleaning and maintenance is the least of your worries. Here try to eat something.” Sherrinford replied as he handed him the bowl and plate with the soup and bread. Greg gave one look at the food and his stomach protested.  
"I'm not really hungry; don’t know if I can stomach it." Sherrinford just raised his eyebrows.  
"Son. If you can stomach whisky, you can stomach some tea and soup." Greg just gave a weak smile and started eating.  
"Greg? Mikey said that the two of you broke up, over Sherlock's return? What happened? Have you been staying here all this time?" He slowly chewed the bread and then took a deep breath before he spoke.  
"He didn't tell me, I realise now that you must have known too. It just; we were in a relationship and I know most of what he does is secret and confidential and I have never, not once demanded to know what's going on or to tell me. I knew there would be some secrets, some things he won't be able to tell me. I didn't mind, as long as in the end of the day he trusted me, came home to me, and knew I would be there for him and loyal to him, so I didn't mind being in the dark. All I asked was that he was safe. Then this... when Sherlock jumped and when his reputation was questioned, it wasn't just his name on the line. I was caught in the middle. I don’t know how much Mycroft told you about what happened, and you were there with my suspension and with the inquest."

He was quiet for a while; they drank their tea in silence and waited for him to speak. He needed to get this off his chest.  
"I remember when they said I was on probation, it felt like a massive promotion, after all it's so much more than I deserved for what I did to Sherlock. The guilt. The resentment. The self-hatred and loathing, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for weeks; I couldn't look at you or Mycroft. Thought to myself who the hell did I think I was to deserve your love and hugs and... and.. when I was responsible for killing your son? For destroying Mycroft's brother? And here he wanted to hold me, tell me he loves me. And then I found out it was all for nothing. It was all just a magic trick. How am I supposed to move on from this? How do I forgive and forget? Don't get me wrong. I'm so happy Sherlock’s alive. I hugged him. Probably crushed his ribs, but he didn't back away, so it must have been a surprise for him too." Silent tears were rolling down his face, but he didn't swipe it away. Instead he just took another piece of bread and ate. They were quiet. Cheryl-Ann was trying to hide her tears as well.  
When he was finished he put the bowl on the table and buried his face in his hands.  
"Three years. We we're dating for three years and two of those three were consumed by one big lie. That means about 70%, two thirds of our relationship was what, false?"  
"No!" Sherrinford disputed. He leaned closer to him.  
"It hurt him just as much as it was hurting you. More than once he expressed his frustration at keeping you in the dark and his fear of what you'd do when you discover the truth. I've never seen him so completely loyal and dedicated to you Greg. He loves you. We saw him without you and with you. You changed him.” He stopped for a moment with a softer voice he went on. “We can't tell you what to do, or where to go from here. Whatever happens you need to know that not one single moment of your time together was false. It was more true and real than anything my son has ever had in his life, and we ought to know." Greg stared at him and started crying all over again. Through the sobs he continued.  
"Anthea came by today, to remind me what she'd do if I were to hurt him. I said I would gladly stand still as she beaten me up; I would rather take the bruises than this pain in my chest. I told him today I wished he had cheated on me, that I could handle that, because I have no idea how to handle this."  
"Oh Greg!" Cheryl-Ann pulled him in a hug again as he cried.  
"I don't know how I still have tears left." He mumbled in her shoulder.  
She held him as he settled down. Noticing how tired and sluggish he was getting Sherrinford spoke.  
"Come on; time to get you to bed." Together they helped him up and walked with him to his bedroom. Cheryl -Ann opened the covers and helped him in. After she tucked him in she leaned over.  
"Greg, trust me on this. This will get better. You will get through it, whether you decide to end the relationship for good or want to try to work it through; we will always love you and be in your debt for saving both our sons. Sherlock multiple times when he was still young and using, and for Mycroft, for giving him a glimpse into what real love and companionship is all about. I wished things were different and my sincerest wish is that you can sort this out, but never forget that my husband and I will always have a soft spot for you. Now get some sleep and tomorrow things might look different." He didn't say anything as he listened, but gave her a small smile as she got up and walked out.  
For the first time since he walked away from Mycroft he slept well.

It was two days before he felt like he had enough guts to face Mycroft. He had no idea if he was in the country or not, still he went to his office. Anthea was sitting behind her desk.  
"Anthea?"  
"Inspector?" She replied. She was wary and quite unsure as how to deal with this. Last time they spoke in his office at the Yard we're still fresh in both their memories, however he gave a slight smile and ran his hand through his hair.  
"Um. I'm sorry to come unannounced like this, but I was hoping he was available and actually want to see me." Greg stepped from one foot to the next looking very unsure of himself. Any other day and she would've found it endearing.  
"Let me find out for you."  
She quickly got up and went to his office.  
"Thanks."  
She came back with a hesitant smile.  
"He's available. Would you like some coffee?"  
"Uh... Yeah sure. That will be great. Thanks." She smiled and left him with the door half open, taking a deep breath he walked closer and opened the door. Entering he closed it again behind him and turned to Mycroft.  
He swallowed. Mycroft clearly hasn't had the best time either. Greg was unsure how he felt about it. Should he be glad that they both were suffering? On the other hand, he still loves this man, and hate to see him so dishevelled. Not the clothes thought, that was an immaculate and perfect as always, his eyes was giving him away.  
They just looked at each other each taking in of one another as much as they could. It's been a little over a month since it happened. Greg was the first to speak.  
"Hi."  
"Hey." Mycroft replied.  
"Uhm. Well. .. I… how. ..." He was interrupted by the door opening and Anthea bringing the coffee and tea with some biscuits. She placed the trolley in the middle and immediately turned to leave. Greg stopped her.  
"Wait." She turned to him.  
"I'm sorry for what I said the other day, and for the ‘oh it speaks' comment. It was less than what you deserved and I'm sorry for my behaviour." She was startled, an apology from him was the last thing she expected, especially since he had nothing to apologise for, but once again he showed himself to better than the rest of men out there. Her boss was so lucky to have such a genuine and truly good man. She smiled softly. "Thank you Inspector, it’s more than I deserve. Enjoy your coffee." With that she left them alone. Mycroft was watching them with interests and was taken aback with Greg's apology.  
Now that they were alone he poured himself a cup of tea. Greg took that as his cue and picked up his coffee. It was perfect, just as he liked it. He turned towards Mycroft.  
"I forgot how good this coffee is."  
"Still too strong for me."  
"Ah yes. Prefer your English blend."  
"Quite."  
"I don't know where to start."  
"I'm unsure as well.”  
He took another sip of his coffee and looked at the office. He used to be so at home here, now he doesn't know where to look.  
"Did you know your parents came to see me?" Mycroft was stunned.  
"They did? When?"  
"Two days ago."  
"They told me they were out for dinner and a movie.”  
"Nope, soup and bread at mine. Or at least that's what I was having. They fed me."  
It was quiet again. The atmosphere was thick and filled with unsaid words and emotions. It was horrible. The great smooth coffee turned to thick slime in his mouth.  
"This is some of the best coffee on the market and yet it feels like thick, slimy goo that is trying to constrict my throat. I have never felt like this around you before." Greg placed the cup back down on the tray.  
"I apologise." Giving up pretence he put down his cup as well.  
"I want to say it's not your fault, but I'm not sure if that's how I really feel. I'm angry at you. So angry. Although I do think the anger is because of the hurt."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Sorry is not going to change what happened."  
"I realise that."  
"What did you think was going to happen when the truth came out?"  
"I had several ideas and possible outcomes."  
"Oh that's great; at least you planned ahead so which one is this?” Greg knew he was still too angry to talk about this rationally. He needed to leave.  
"The first one."  
"The first one?"  
"You're a good man with strong morals and principles I realised that when the deceit would be over you would leave. You did."  
He stared at him in unbelief. He expected this, the whole thing?  
"So you basically were waiting for the day I would walk out? When he jumped did you made a little mark in your calendar counting down? You did, didn’t you? So all those nights you promised me forever were what; a fucking lie? Did you laugh behind my back at how I hanged on every promise and words of together, forever, in for the long run? The pathetic cop, who lost everything, who fell for every lie. Is that why you were so patient with me, because you knew it wouldn't last?" He tried so hard to speak like a rational civilised man, but he couldn't. His damn heart wouldn't let his brain control the conversation. Mycroft's eyes flashed in anger and before he could stop himself he pinned Greg against the wall.  
"I wanted forever! I wanted you till the day I die! I still do. I was patient because I love you and treasured every single moment I had with you. I desperately wanted a different outcome, tried my best to convince Sherlock that we should think of an alternate plan. But we couldn't. Moriarty had a sniper on you. On John and Mrs. Hudson. One false move and you would be killed. I couldn't let that happen. You’re it for me...You always will be. I deeply regret that you were caught in the cross fire."  
Their eyes locked onto one another. Their fingers gripped each other like a lifeline in the dark. They were so close, yet so far apart.  
After what felt like a lifetime Mycroft exhaled and let go of Greg. He stepped away and straightens out his jacket. Greg did the same. He made it to the door and turned around.  
"I need to know we will get through this, but it's going to take time. I need to be able to look at you without being reminded of this. Will you give me the time?"  
"I'll wait, however long it takes."


	3. Chapter 3

It was another week before the news of Sherlock's resurrection became old news and things turned normal, relatively normal. He was alone at Baker Street, John and Mary was living together, and from what Greg heard, they are serious and Mary likes Sherlock, and he liked her.   
Greg was a bit jealous and angry about that. Here he was trying for the past five years to get through the man, to help him, but got only rudeness and crassness and insults in return. In an instant she enters the picture and immediately is a blockbuster hit.   
"Bloody hell, it’s actually seven years, or nine, but two doesn't count." He was under the impression the man was dead after all.

John's blog was reasonably quiet after the post of his return and so forth. He hasn't seen either man since the little get together for drinks few weeks back. Honestly he doesn't really feel like seeing them anyhow.   
Considering how somewhat close he and John used to be, a little part of him missed that camaraderie. It took a little dip since he started to date Mycroft, but it most certainly went balls up when Sherlock jumped. Next to Mycroft, Greg was public enemy number two. John made it clear that they were to blame and he never would forget it. He was a hundred percent sure that even the women and Sherlock picked up on the little frost from John at the Baker Street. "So strange that he isn't even a tiny little bit angry at Molly, who lied to his face, something neither Mycroft nor I ever did to him."   
Throwing his pen down, he sat back in his chair, stretching his limbs. He was tired, anger, hurt, frustrated, and talking to himself. 

After much indecision he picked up his phone and opened a text box.

“Hi.”

It wasn’t even two minutes when the reply came.

“Hello Gregory. MH.”

“Just wanted to say, I still think about you, and hope you’re day is pleasant. GL”

“Thank you. Hope your day is most satisfying as well. PS. You’re in my thoughts as well. MH.”

He quickly put the phone away before he could send anything else, with some renew effort he finished the report in front of him. Afterwards he packed up and left for the day. 

As he left the Yard he heard his name being called.   
"Lestrade!"   
"Ah, the real life Lazarus." He groaned out. Not in the mood he leaned with his back against the wall and waited. Sherlock seemed a little bored and John was trying very hard not to make it obvious how he was trying to look anywhere but at Greg. Greg rolled his eyes.   
"Fucking childish." He muttered but both heard him. John's eyes flashed in anger but hid it fast. Sherlock frowned in puzzlement and used his piercing gaze to look at Greg. Greg stood still. He stared back. Every few minutes Sherlock opened his mouth to say something then closed it quickly. If he wasn’t so negative and fed up, Greg would've been amused. After what seemed like a few minutes Greg pushed back from the wall.  
"Done your little deducing? Read what you see and came to the right conclusions, or do you need some help?"  
Sherlock turned his head, his eyes focusing more intently. Greg got pissed off.  
"You know what, take a picture and stare at that, I'm going home." With that he turned his back to walk away.   
"Why are you being such a dick?" John said before he could stop himself. Greg stopped and slowly turned around. His eyes practically black with anger and rage.   
"A dick? Really? Two years and now I'm worthy of your attention?" Sherlock stepped closer.   
"What do you mean?" He probed Greg. Greg turned to him.   
"Wow. This is great, something that the great Sherlock doesn't know." He turned to John.   
"Didn't tell him? Shall I?"  
"Greg listen..." John tried but Greg shook his head. He turned to Sherlock   
"When you jumped, you thought you did the right thing and though that we would move on, that our lives would go on, because that's the logical thing right? To save us, but more importantly to win the game. When you jumped, you might have not died, but you did kill a lot of things. And yes, the sacrifice was big, but the ripples behind is still widening out, people are still caught in the waves. John here blamed me, Mycroft first, then me. Tried to punch him, did you know, but got my face instead. But that's okay, it’s not like me or your brother meant anything to you, unlike John over here. Never mind that I put my job on the line to warn you that night; but you didn't run at least not until the game called for it. I know you don't care about anything else besides the game and John, but I lost two friends that day, I lost my reputation, my character, my name. I came so close to losing my job. I've lost Mycroft and even now two years later, John still can't look me in the eye. Still hates me, why I don't know, it’s not like I knew about the deceit. Or was it because I was sleeping with Mycroft, sleeping with the enemy?" John cringe and Sherlock just gaped.   
Greg turned to John.  
"Why not being a little bit pissed that Molly lied to your face for two years, how come she gets forgiven so fast and me and Mycroft are still being treated like crap? Mycroft, who would move mountains, did move mountains, to keep his brother safe. Have been doing it all his life and only got animosity back, unlike you. Would it make you feel any better if I tell we're finished?"  
"You and Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned as he finally got his voice back. He looked stunned. John looked up in alarm.  
"Yes." They stared at each other, Greg trying to get some sense of decorum back after that little speech.   
John stepped closer, raising his hand slightly as to placate Greg.  
"Greg. Listen.” It was as if something inside him broke loose and he couldn't control the hurt and anger, and lashed out.  
"No! I'm done listening. I’ve listening for years to what an idiot I am, how I'm part of such a big joke called Scotland Yard. I've listening to you as you yelled at me for killing and betraying Sherlock. I've listened to the lies and promises of Mycroft. I’ve listened and I'm done." He was practically heaving with the loss of control, and he didn't care who saw. With a deep breath his shoulders sagged and you could see in his posture that he has given up. 

He looked at Sherlock. Softly and with a flat tone he asked.  
"How come I've never been good enough for you or Mycroft? You've invaded my life and work and I gave everything, but I was always just the idiot who wanted to play cop and partner. I never stood a chance. I love him, and yet I can't let him go. I'm angry at you and yet I hugged you like a long lost son. You Holmes's are somehow my life, but I'm just a pawn in yours." There was so much he wanted to say but couldn’t so he left them standing there.   
Walking away and disappearing in the crowd. By the time Sherlock and John got some sense back Greg was long gone. 

 

With effort he went in search for his bottle of whisky the moment he closed his front door. He found it in the last cupboard. There was only about a quarter left. Not even looking for a glass he downed it in one go. Sighing he dropped the bottle in the bin. Contemplating his next move he heard the door open. Having an idea of who it was he sat down on the sofa. Sherlock came in, not saying a word he sat down on the one seater looking around. It was obvious Sherlock didn’t care much nor was impressed with his flat, but considering he got it in short notice, Greg couldn’t be bothered. He let the silence linger, not in the mood to say much. Not without crying and he personally feel like he had enough of that. After a while Sherlock spoke, his voice soft in the darkening room.  
"There was a time when Mycroft and I were inseparable. We did everything together. He would hide one of my toys and books in the garden and just by the evidence and state of his clothes made me deduce what it was and where it was." Sherlock was quiet again. Greg frowned, of all the things that he expected him to say, that was the last thing. He just looked at him and stayed quiet.   
"Treasure Island was my favourite book; I made him read it to me over and over again." Greg had no idea where this was going. It was so bizarre he could've sworn he has been abducted by aliens...or Sherlock was...   
“He would even do the voices for me; he had a good pirate voice.”   
It was quiet again. Greg looked at him and sighed.   
"He's entire world evolves around you, you know this. I actually had to accept the fact that I was third in his life. You were first, then England then me. I'm okay with that."  
"I’m okay with that." Greg scowled at Sherlock’s recitation of the sentence.  
"What?"  
"You said 'I'm okay with that' meaning you still considered yourself in a relationship with him. Ergo you’re not finished."  
"Ergo?"   
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair. Greg was getting tired and sluggish; the whisky was enough to relax him, but not enough to take the pain away.   
"Why are you telling me this?"  
Greg thought Sherlock was ignoring him but after a while he softly replied.   
"He came home one day, all bloodied and bruised. He was bullied; he was small for his age and refined. The boys didn't take to kindly to him. They had beaten him for being gay. I remember he locked himself in his room for two days. When he came out, it wasn't my brother, it was someone else. He looked at me and said; ‘caring is not an advantage. Never trust people they would only hurt you. Keep them at a distance. Always Sherlock. Alone is what protects you, alone is what we are’. It was only later that I discovered the boy who beaten him the most, was his first love. The boy only pretended to like him, to draw him out. Since that day he kept himself separate. He didn't circulate or engaged with people. Nothing. He became cold. He also started eating a lot, and instead of becoming big and strong he became plump and overweight." Sherlock stared in the distance as if the memories we're playing before him.   
Greg felt his heart breaking. Poor Mycroft, getting his heart crushed at such a young age.   
Before he could respond Sherlock spoke again.   
"It all changed when you came along. I could see it. Slowly and surely you changed him. Took you years, but then again there was a lot of walls to break down. And some could only been broken with time." Greg sat there disbelieving. What is it that the man is trying to say?  
"Sherlock...”  
"I tried to follow in his footsteps. I never had any friends, just him. Until you. Until John." He turned to Greg.   
"Why does John believe in me so much? I don't understand? Even you, no matter how angry I make you or push you away, you keep coming back." Greg leaned to rest on his arms on his knees and his head in his hands.   
"That's what friends do. That's what real friends do. Not acquaintances or gold diggers. I've lost a lot of friends, close friends especially in the eighties. And good people in the force too. So did John. You don't get PTSD from sitting in a convoy and reading Dear John letters. He has seen what war can do, what destruction it can bring. He knows and I know there's more to life than the hustle and bustle of a city, of partying, of pretending to be friends, only to get something out of it. Trust me, there's no advantage to be found when you're fighting to save a life as they bleed out in your hands, you can't negotiate or pitch-a-sale- your way out of that. So when you have a chance to be there for someone, to see the potential, to know they can be extraordinary, you fight for it, and you protect it." Greg kept an eye as Sherlock processed the information, the slight tilt of his head, and the frown between the eyes. He took it to heart, he memorized it.   
Opening his eyes he looked at Greg.  
"Why is he angry with you for what happened? And with my brother?"  
"Because he lost the one steady and true thing, being, friend in his life the day you jumped. He would've jumped with you if you asked. And he blamed me and Mycroft. Granted Mycroft is not the biggest cheerleader when it comes to emotions and understanding. John saw us as the ones who took you away. To be honest Sherlock if the roles were reversed and you and John took Mycroft away from me I would've... I probably...." he couldn't finish his sentence. Instead he laid his head back down on the back of the sofa. He needed to get him emotions under control, it’s a wonder Sherlock haven’t called him out on it.   
"But I did." He snapped his eyes back to Sherlock. Sherlock looked like a small child confession to breaking the antique vase.  
"What?"  
"I did take him away. It was my plan, my game that came between you." Greg exhaled. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. He tried to swallow a few times. Then he realised Sherlock was right. But he couldn't find it in him to be cruel or call him out on it. He has actually paid enough. He lost two years of his life doing whatever he was doing.   
Most definitely not a walk in the park. He lost his friends and family. That’s when the realisation hit.  
"Ah hell. Sherlock we're in the same boat. But you've lost more than I did. Yes our names, characters, reputation, work, friends, family, lives were screwed up and altered most likely for a very long time. So the little we got, we got to hold tight.”  
Sherlock just stared at him, comprehending what he's trying to say.   
"John will come around." He whispered.   
Greg tried to smile, but only a grimace came out.   
"Well today was the first time in two years he spoke to me out of own free will, and it didn't consists of a threat or something quite vocabulary. Progress."  
Sherlock gave a quick grin and stood up. He looked unsure of himself for a moment then hesitantly asked.  
"Mycroft?"  
"Sherlock, you can't fix two years of lies and deceit overnight. I love him. Truly. But I need to know I can look at him and not see the lies or betrayal. To trust him, to be able to feel safe and wanted and like I mean something. This is going to take time."  
"You mean everything to him; you’re not number three you know? The first person in more than twenty years to make him smile as though he meant it. It's nauseating and a little bit pleasing to see. You’re not really third on his list." He got up and walked to the door. As he opened it he turned back.  
"John hasn't fully forgiven me for my two years of betrayal and lies. But we are not you and Mycroft. As you said; progress." With that he left Greg in the darkness with his thoughts.   
“First the parents, then the brother. Really?” he muttered as he made his way to the bedroom.

After two days of little sleep and a lot of thinking he made up his mind. He loved Mycroft, and if he really loves him, like he is claiming, he has to work on their relationship. Give and take. He is a lot of things, but he is not a coward, nor a quitter.   
He went back to his office. Anthea immediately let him in, the atmosphere between them a lot calmer and relaxed. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said about him and Mycroft. She brought in the coffee and tea like last time, but instead of biscuits she brought cake. Chocolate cake with dark chocolate and Malteser ganache. Their favourite. It was not lost on either of them the subtle message she was trying to convey. They both ignored her.   
They ate in silence, both trying not to break the silence resulting in them eating two pieces each. After the coffee was finished they continued to be quiet.   
Mycroft would subtly try to read the situation and Greg's wellbeing while Greg would stare at the window. Sighing he got up and walked closer to the window. He leaned his forehead against the glass, his palms against the cool glass.   
"I don't know what I'm doing here?" He softly whispered. "I'm out of tears, I’m out of anger. I'm tired. I want to hate you, so badly, but for some reason I cant." Mycroft stood up and stood next to him.   
"I'll let you." Greg turned to him. Mycroft lost weight. A lot. His conversation with Sherlock was replying in his head. It hasn't stopped to be honest, which was one the biggest reasons he was here, he needed to know they could salvage this.   
Sherlock was right; he did consider them to be still in a relationship. He glanced at Mycroft again. His eyes were sunken with dark marks. He was paler than normal. Everyone is under the impression that he was this cold man, but he isn't. He is just one big hearted boy, who got his heart broken and learned to never take it out again for the world to see. Can't really blame him.   
After Greg’s divorce he had scars. And paranoia, keep thinking they will start to cheat any moment. Mycroft understood and eased his mind any way he could. He and Mycroft were like that broken cups and plates that they fixed with gold in Japan. He frowned. What's it called?   
"Mycroft what do they call that art where they fixed the plates and cups with gold? It’s in Japan, some age old tradition or something where the broken pottery was fixed with gold or silver or something." Mycroft looked startled. He didn't expect this. Greg gave a small smile, he was always able to startle the man, get him to rock on his axis. He quickly recovered.  
"Kintsukuroi. The art of repairing with gold. Most pottery actually. As to say the piece are now more beautiful that it was broken. They don’t do it so much today, with all the ways to repair things, but it’s still a beautiful concept.  
"I've always loved that. Feels like we can be fixed. You did you know." Mycroft tried to understand what he was saying. Greg went on. "It felt like I was broken for so long, until you came into my life and slowly and steady you repaired me. With gold. Fitting with your auburn or shall I daresay golden hair." He turned his back to Mycroft as he looked at the view again.   
A sentimental smile gracing his lips, his face turned softer, and some lines disappeared from the corners of his eyes. With a sight the smile disappeared and the corners turned down again. The lines around his eyes reappeared.  
"Feels broken all over again."  
Mycroft scratched the glass as he tried to make a fist. He shut his eyes trying to stop the overwhelming emotions. Finally he groaned out.   
"I didn't fix you, you fixed me. You made me believe in hope, in beauty, in love. The art uses silver as well. So by your analysis with your silver hair and with your essence you put me together.” A broken 14 year old boy he mentally added.   
He closed his eyes again and then turned to him. "I'm so sorry Gregory. I had to protect him anyway I could. He's my responsibility. I made the promise when he was born to look after him." 

They didn't speak for a while. At long last Greg moved away and sat down in the chair. He swiped his hands at the side of the plate, getting some ganache on his finger. He put it is his mouth, hoping the sugar really does have shock fighting capabilities, and considering he already had two slices, he should be shock proof. He smiled and turned to Mycroft   
"I know.”   
“I’ve always known he was your number one priority. You know you are actually very blessed to have a family that cares so deep, no matter how hard you try to hide it. First your parents, then your brother came to see me. None of them impressed by my flat, by the way, we’ll neither am I to be honest."  
Mycroft pulled a face.  
"Sherlock came to see you?"  
"It was weird, but I got the moral of the story, took me a while."  
"What did he say?"  
"No. Not telling." Mycroft looked as though he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it.   
"My... I mean Mycroft. I need to know we can work this out? I need to know I can forgive and something like this will never happen again. I can't... I won't survive..."  
Mycroft didn't let it show how much it saddened him that Greg didn't feel comfortable calling him ‘My’, but let it slide. He so desperately wanted them to be able to get past this.  
"I would like nothing more than for us to move past this. I'll do anything. I promise this will never happen again. Never. I will not put myself in a position to lose you again. I can't."  
Greg nodded. They will need to start slow, most likely at the beginning.  
"I don’t think you’ve lost me, maybe temporarily misplaced. If we are doing this, there has to patience and perseverance and even some understanding. There will be times I'll get angry and probably yell a bit."  
"I'll invest in some ear plugs and let you vent and scream to your hearts content.”  
"Did you just make a joke?" Greg stared incredulously. Mycroft looked shocked.  
"Oh God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just..." Greg held up his hands as to stop him.  
"Mycroft stopped. It's good. I don’t mind. Humour is good. Progress." He smiled remembering his conversation with Sherlock.   
"Progress?" Mycroft asked. Greg grinned.  
"I think I have an inside joke with Sherlock."  
Mycroft rolled his eyes.   
"Must you?”  
"I must." He looked at his watch.   
"I got to get back to work, we must try to get together and have some dinner?” He tried for nonchalance but they both could hear the desperation and hunger in his voice.   
"I would like that. I have to go away for a few days. Perhaps next week? "  
"Sure. Call me? Or I can call you?  
"I will. Thank you for not giving up. "  
"There's too much to lose. You will be safe, wherever it is your going?"  
"Ukraine. Meeting about building the economy back up." Greg didn't bother hiding his surprise. Mycroft actually told him where he was going. Mycroft gave a small smile.   
"I learned my lesson; I’m trying to be better."  
"Thanks." Greg tried to hide the knot forming in his throat. With some of his anger and worries settled he walked towards the door. Mycroft stood up and followed him.   
"Gregory?" Greg turned. Mycroft was standing very close to him, his hand in the air, close to his face. An unspoken question. Greg nodded and closed his eyes as Mycroft softly traced his cheek his thumb pressing slightly at the side of his mouth. Greg grabbed Mycroft's other hand and intertwined their fingers. Mycroft squeezed just as hard as Greg. Their fingers white with the pressure and force  
"May I text or call you while I'm away?" Mycroft whispered as his breath warmed Greg's lips.   
"I'd like that." Greg replied. They stood like that for another few minutes when they opened their eyes and let go of one another.   
"Kintsukuroi in gold right?” Greg whispered.  
"Kintsukuroi in silver” Mycroft countered.


	4. Chapter 4

1.4 

"Did you know there's a ghost town in Ukraine called Pripyat?" Greg read the text one more time before he replied. Since Mycroft left for his business trip yesterday, he actually has been in touch. He texted him to let him know that he was safe and sound in the Ukraine. They swapped a few 'how are you?' 'How was your day?' And then it was quiet. Greg was unsure of what to reply. Mycroft doesn't just send random things like this. In all honesty he actually liked the idea of Mycroft just texting him random things, things he found interesting in that moment. He just hoped it lasts.  
He quickly typed back.  
"I've heard something like that some time ago, something about a nuclear power failure in the eighties right?"  
"Yes. Everybody evacuated. About 50 000 people. Brand new amusement park just left, houses, shops cars in the street. There’s something very tragic about it."   
"There's always tragedy around us, we have to keep believing we can make a difference. We do. You probably more than anyone else I know."  
He didn't receive a reply. Running his hand through his hair he continued working. 

 

Around 3pm the call came of a murder. He quickly glanced at the details his good mood gone and a heaviness setting in his shoes.  
"Oh crap."   
"Bad?" Sally asked over his shoulder. He nodded.   
"Young women, real estate agent, there was a viewing. Open apartment. You know what this means?"  
Sally groaned.   
"Long hours, lots of people trying to be smart with huge amount of useless information, forensics that's taking forever, because everyone needs to processed. Long night ahead."   
"Let the good times begin." He chuckled as they left for the long day ahead. 

Greg came home just before midnight, exhausted and hungry. Unfortunately there was nothing in his fridge which means he settled the rumbling in his stomach with a glass of milk and then went to bed.   
He was woken up just before five by his phone. The shrill ringing was not very good for his headache that is in beginning stages.   
"Lestrade"  
"Good morning Gregory." Greg was instantly awake when he heard Mycroft’s soft voice over the phone, the calmness, the familiarity of it made him smile instantly.  
"Hi."  
"I'm sorry for waking you up so early, but I'm coming back today and thought we might have dinner tonight? I was thinking of making that lamb roast you liked?" Greg closed his eyes. He used to live with Mycroft until a few weeks back and he hasn't been back to the house, admittedly he isn't sure whether he can face that. The memories it would be too overwhelming. In any case they were supposed to be taking it slowly. An intimate dinner with Mycroft in their - his home is not going to be the best choice.   
On the other hand, he would really love the idea of going back there, the feeling of home, a place that he was safe. He always felt safe when he was with Mycroft. Would the house or building actually make a difference?   
"Gregory? Are you there?" Greg shook his head. He got a bit lost in his mind and forgot to answer. Mycroft voice took a turn to be a more professional.  
"Maybe some other…."  
"No!" Greg interrupted before he could continue.   
"I'd like that."  
"You sure?" Mycroft tried to keep the hope out of his voice.   
"Yeah... yes. What time? "  
"Would seven be okay?" It was a safe time, not to early or too late to give the wrong impression.   
"Perfect. Can I bring anything? "  
"Just you."   
"See you later then."  
"Have a good day.”  
"You too. Travel safe."  
"You be careful as well."  
"Depends on whether I'm running after Sherlock." Greg was going for some light humour but it failed to relieve the tension. Still neither wanted to put the phone down.   
"I got to get ready for work."  
"I have to pack."  
"Go pack."  
"Go get ready."  
"Mycroft..."  
"Promise me." Mycroft pressed. Greg frowned.   
"What?”  
"That you would be safe."  
"I'll give it my best shot. Besides you need to promise me actually."  
"The desire to go home safely is only when you're waiting." Mycroft whispered.   
"I'm sorry. That was too soon. I got to go. "  
"Mycroft...” The line went dead.   
"Bloody hell!" Greg cried as he threw the phone down. In his frustration he threw the blankets to one side and got out of bed. 

By the time he was done in the shower he realised he had more than enough time to drink some coffee. "More like stopping at the shop and get some breakfast as well." He thought out loud as he remembered he didn't have any food in the house, therefore no breakfast to go with the coffee. He quickly got dressed and left. He was busy locking his door when he heard his name.   
"Greg?" He turned around. There on the pavement was Sherlock and John. John, who had called out for him; and was standing with a take-away coffee along with a brown bag, which smells divine. The cup was a big one. A really big one. He looked at it and then back at them.  
"Morning." He tried tentatively.   
"Hmm." Sherlock replied. John rolled his eyes.   
"Morning. Um. Got you a coffee and something to eat." He held out the food and Greg hesitated before he took it.   
"Thanks. I guess. Not to sound like a 'dick' is this safe?"  
John narrowed his eye but replied.   
"Yes. I had the same, empty packets is in the bin over there. Sherlock is the one who you have to look out for."  
"Excuse me?" Sherlock actually looked offended. Greg gave a small laugh.   
"Yeah. I remember. Sorry and thanks. Although I can't help to wonder what the two of you are doing this early, at my place...”   
"Dump." Sherlock breathed. Greg ignored him and went on.   
"...offering me coffee and food, which smells terrific by the way.”  
"Bacon and cheese with salami, custom made like you liked it. Sherlock said you had no food in your place."  
"He did, did he?" Sherlock shrugged.   
"You lost three pounds. You’re a mess."  
"Why thank you Dr. Oz." John giggled and seeing Sherlock's expression Greg joined in.   
"Are we going to stand here the whole day?" Sherlock muttered out.   
"You did come to my place." Greg retorted.   
"Because we have work to do. The case. "  
"Which one?" Greg asked as he bit down the sandwich. He gave a loud moan.   
"This is so good."  
"The real estate agent. Yesterday?"  
"I didn't call you in."  
"You still need me. She was lured there; the viewing was just a decoy."  
Greg turned sceptical.   
"Huh? How come?" They started walking to the road where Sherlock got a taxi. As they got in they started discussing the case. Greg was calm and relaxed, he and Sherlock are back on track, and John was talking to him, without anger ready to erupt like a boiling volcano. He and Mycroft was taking things slow and rebuilding their relationship. The breakfast was poetry worthy, if only he could rhyme.

By midday his good mood about the morning and the breakfast was gone. They have been working for a good few hours now, the atmosphere relatively relaxed. Greg did notice that Sherlock would every now and then glance between him and John. Who besides the early chat outside his flat haven't really spoken again, except when the situation called for it.   
Greg wished he could make all drama go away. He really did. On top of that he hasn’t heard anything back from Mycroft either. To keep the little sanity he had Greg decided that they should take a quick break. Sherlock started murmuring and left them. John shrugged as they drank some coffee. It was just the two of them. Both not having a clue what to say.   
Greg took out his phone, hoping for a distraction.   
It didn't come.   
John looked at Greg and started speaking.  
"You were right." His head snapped up to John.   
"I was?"  
"I did blame you and Mycroft. I've never been his greatest fan and supporter, but I guess I was so taking in with their antics that I didn't saw the deep bond, between them. Didn't want to."  
"What happened to change your mind?” Putting the mug of coffee down on his table he leaned forward, giving John his fullest attention.  
"Mary and I got talking and we had dinner the other night with Sherlock. Catching up and clearing a few things and then I realised the level of trust and confidence they have in one another, or should considering what they had to do to make the plan work. And a few days ago when I went there Mycroft was there. There was no sniping, no sarcasm. They would have this conversation without saying a word. You don’t get that level of understanding and closeness without actually being there for one another. And then Sherlock said something that made me mull over a few things."  
"What's that?" Greg wanted so much to tell him that they are very close in fact. That the only thing Mycroft could be accountable was that he cared too much. John slightly tilted his head as he remembered.  
"All my life you put me first you are my older brother, but you can't be my saviour, parent, and guardian all at once. You should release yourself from this deep rooted responsibility of always making me first priority in everything you do. "  
Greg was dumbfounded. He stared.   
“Sherlock said that?” John actually snorted.   
"I know always so dramatic." Both of the brothers were it was actually so endearing to see them with the same traits that they would never admit to. Greg turned serious.  
"Mycroft did that John."  
John looked confused. Greg explained. He started counting on his fingers.  
"Sherlock. His job. Me. Then everyone else."   
"Since the day I met him, about eight or nine years ago, Sherlock was and is Mycroft's number one priority and responsibility. He would move mountains for his little brother. Yes. He doesn't always go about it the right way. And he may need to learn to let go a bit. It's who he is John. He isn't this cold man everyone thinks he is. Not when it comes to his brother. Sherlock is his Achilles heel. Always was. Always will be."  
"And you?" John sat back in his chair, his whole posture relaxed although his eyes were still serious.  
"What about me?" Greg really wished they could be having another conversation. He didn't want to think about it for a while.   
"You said you were third. You won’t say that when he looks at you." Seeing the unbelief and regret of their relationship he added.   
"Or used to. Before you have broken up I mean. Haven't seen you together recently so... I'm sorry it didn't work out. Also I'm sorry for blaming you and taking it out on you. It's only after some reflection of what you said the other day that I realised that I was the actual 'dick'."  
He didn't say anything as he tried to get his emotions in check. 

Finally he looked at John and smiled.   
"Thanks you. This means a lot. I'm sorry too, for the things I said." John waved it away.  
"Nothing that needed to be heard. If you don't mind me asking is there no way you and Mycroft can work things out? "  
Greg shrugged.   
"I hope so. I want to. So much. I love him John. I've seen the real Mycroft and I'm amazed at him. We actually have started talking again and we're actually having dinner tonight. We are taking it slow."  
"That's good. I probably need to apologise to him sometime as well."  
Greg just shrugged and finished his coffee. The atmosphere finally calm and light. That is until his phone rang, looking at the caller id he turned to John.  
“Ahh Lazarus.” Pressing the button he answered.  
"Where the are you?”  
"What? Now? Bloody hell Sherlock, how did you get there so fast? We're on our way." Hanging up he quickly called Sally over and indicated for John to follow him.  
"Sherlock's at the flats. He's convinced the killer is still there. One of the tenants apparently." Grabbing his jacket John followed him and Sally out.  
"What does he want us to do?”  
"Door to door."


	5. Chapter 5

When they arrived Sherlock was pacing up and down. His whole body vibrating with impatience and excitement. The trio walked up to him. He immediately started talking and spitting out deductions.  
“This was not a random shooting. It was well planned and thought out."  
"You said that back at the Yard.” Greg was waiting for more.  
"How do you mean?" Sally asked. Greg was surprised, instead of going off at them or biting at Sally he actually explained.   
"She was having an affair, with the competition, which was really stupid as her husband was also the CEO of the company. This was a low cheap murder for hire. He most likely got one of the tenants to do that for cheaper rent or something and blame the man she was having an affair with. That way he gets away and the rival company gets knock down. This place is in a high quality area and there's talk about development."  
"So we just knock on the doors?" Sally clarified.   
"Yes. Most of the tenants are poor and desperate. Probably drug users and don't take threats well to their houses. Which is how the CEO was able to convince them."  
"Doubt we'll find anything, most is probably at work?" John said as he looked around.   
"No. Sherlock's right, most of these are pensioners or the young and unemployed. Those that work wouldn't be the killer, and this time of the day is actually our best bet to not only eliminate the workers from the pensioners and unemployed." Sally said. Greg smirked as he saw Sherlock's surprise. He nodded at her and she smirk at him.  
"And our best bet would be the floor she was killed on. After that we can do the rest." Greg stated. He turned to Sherlock.   
"You're going to be okay with this, not too boring or mundane?"  
"Don't be daft. It was my idea. "  
"Oh of course please lead the way." Greg sarcastically replied. Sherlock scowled but Greg just grinned.   
With his big coat he swayed and turned around. Greg's phone beeped with a text a few yards and he quickly looked down.   
It was from Mycroft. 

‘Just arrived home. Be safe. See you tonight. MH.’

He texted back. 

‘Thank you. Busy running after Sherlock. Will be careful. Don't want to miss out on our dinner. See later. PS. I want a big glass of that posh wine in the back of the fridge.’

Before he entered the flat his phone rang, he answered without looking. Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave him a look. Greg was so tempted to stick out his tongue.   
"Lestrade."  
"Gregory?"  
"Mycroft? What's going on?"  
"I do apologise for calling. I have no idea what came over me. Maybe a cold or fever. ..:  
"Mycroft." He really didn't have time for this.  
"I need you to be safe. I need you to be in my life, I can't repair this without you. I lo... be safe." Before he could respond Mycroft cut the line. Sighing he pocketed the phone.   
"Okay let's go."  
"He's being an idiot. Getting obsessive about your safety. Can't get your forgiveness if you're not there." Sherlock commented on a low, bored tone.   
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "I'm right."  
Greg gave a small chuckle. "Doesn't matter. It's our business. Personally I quite like this side of him."  
"You should tell him that."   
"I will. Besides he'll still keep a close eye on you as well." Greg retorted smugly. Sally and John pretend not to let their enjoyment show. They looked from the one to the other. Its John that finally stepped in.   
"We should get a move on. You two can stare all you want, but Greg you got plans tonight, and I need to be somewhere as well, so maybe we can do this later?" John the ever present voice of reason. Sherlock turned around and climbed the stairs. Sally gave him the thumbs up as they followed. 

They were at the last stretch of the floor. So far unsuccessful. Although on the same floor they were still side by side at the doors. That was the one thing Greg insisted on, they stayed together on one floor at a time.   
As Greg moved to the next door he heard some shuffling behind him. A young woman, around 21 at the most was walking with some shopping. He smiled reassuringly as she caught his eyes. He stepped closer.  
"May I help you?" She looked sceptical but nodded after a moment. He took the some of the bags and walked with her. He could see Sherlock’s little head roll behind him and was certain he could hear mumbling of ‘idiot‘ he ignored it. John smiled and went to the next door. Sally just moved on.  
"I'm in here." The woman said as she took out a key and opened the door. Knowing that it could be intimidating to just follow her in he put down the bags about a meter inside the flat. With one step he can either be inside of outside.  
"Here you go miss."  
"Thanks." Greg noticed that she wouldn’t look him in the eye, her eyes shifting from one place to another. He himself wouldn’t mind to have a look around, however he had other things on his mind.  
"If you don’t mind me asking, you didn't see anything yesterday?”  
She shook her head.  
"Came to visit me mom. Arrived last night."   
"Thank you and enjoy your stay." He turned to walk away, an unsettling feeling setting in his guts, something was off, and he couldn’t pin point to what exactly what it was that made him uneasy. He was halfway to the next door when he stopped, John looked at with question, which made Sherlock turned. He shook his head and added as an afterthought.  
"I'll give her my card, if she hears anything." He turned and walked back. The door was still open.  
“Excuse me miss?" Greg pushed the door open, and froze. She was standing there with a gun aiming straight at him. As he raised his hands in surrender he knew it was in vain, he opened his mouth to say anything, but all that came out was a futile groan as he felt the impact. His eyes were focused on her as she pulled the trigger again and again.   
He felt the second and third impact in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, after what seemed like hours he looked down to see his pale blue shirt transforming into a triangle of crimson. 

Outside the others jumped at the sound and turned around. Their eyes briefly met with wide alarm. As one they turned towards Greg’s position, who was standing in the doorway, completey frozen and then like an invisible line was cut fell to the floor. Right then the girl ran out, the gun still in her hand.  
Sally pulled out her radio and yelled at John and Sherlock as she sprinted after the girl.  
"Stay here! Help him!"   
John ran to Greg on the floor, removing his scarf and jacket as he bends down. He ripped open Greg's jacket and shirt, assessing the damage.  
"Oh Jesus! Sherlock call an ambulance and give me your scarf!" Sherlock immediately ripped his scarf off and handed it to John who roughly folded it and pressed it down on top of his which was already soaked with blood. Sherlock fell to his knees opposite John. He eyes glued at Greg's chest.  
They could hear sirens in the distance; however none of the men paid attention as they were focused on the man lying on the floor.   
John pressed down harder on the makeshift dressings, the whole time goading Greg into staying awake and keeping his eyes on him. Greg's choked as he felt the pressure.   
He couldn't talk. Everything was blurry. A million thoughts running through his head; all of them more foggy and misty than the one before. Here and there something grabbed his attention. He had to be safe. Why? He tried to focus. For Mycroft. He remembered now. He begged Greg.   
"Mcrft" He choked out. Sherlock turned to Greg and couldn't hide the fear in his eyes. Greg didn't look good. The blood was seeping through both the scarves and their hands were red. A small puddle started underneath him, slowly and steadily growing bigger.  
Greg tried again as he lifted his hand, trying to grasp onto something a little more solid than his fading breaths. Without thinking Sherlock grabbed his hand their fingers interlacing as both tried to ground the other. Both hands being glued together by the blood. Greg moved his eyes from John to Sherlock trying to lift his head. John quickly shook of his jacket and placed it under his head and then put the pressure back on the scarves. The sirens were getting louder but John was scared that it wasn’t near or loud enough. Greg was losing blood. Fast. The only good thing seemed as if it the bullets went straight through.   
Greg knew he was in bad shape; the coldness creeping in his limbs weren't from cold. The fear in Sherlock's eyes wasn't for a bad experiment. This was so not good. He needed to get a few things off his chest, the chances of making it out alive, wasn’t really in his favour. John may be good, but he wasn’t a walking hospital theatre. With some last strength he grabbed Sherlock's hands tighter.   
"Tell him.... Myc...It’s ok..."  
"Shut up. Stay still, you’re going to be fine. Tell him yourself." Sherlock eyes were wide open in fear, his voice hoarse and demanding Greg to be fine. Greg mouth quirked up in an attempt to smile. Out of the corner of his mouth the blood started dripping down. The iron taste nauseating in his mouth. He tried again.  
"Love him. Forgiven. My everything. Tell him Sherl..k my Myc."   
"Stop this. Tell him yourself!" It was getting considerably harder to breathe and to stay awake. He was running out of time, he knew it, his hands were in Sherlock’s but he couldn’t feel it, he lost feeling in his legs as well, even the pressure on his chest was slowly fading, instead of relief that the pain was fading, he knew the hour glass was nearly empty. He really wished he had more time, if he knew this was how it was going to end, he would’ve spent the last few weeks, curled with Mycroft instead of his cold and hollow flat. He would’ve forgiven him sooner, had the dinner sooner, gave Mycroft one last kiss, tell him he loved him. A tear was slipping through his eye, taking the same path as the blood running down the corner of his mouth. His eyes were locked on Sherlock, willing him to understand.   
"Love you to." He uttered at him. Sherlock lip started quivering. His eyes filled up. He tried to blink it away. It won’t do to show weakness, not now. He tried again.  
"Listen.” Greg’s ignored it.  
"Pro pro ud of ya." He struggled as his lungs filled up with more blood. He could feel the bubbles rising in his chest. In his throat. The trickle of blood at his mouth was going to turn into a waterfall, he was sure of it. Sherlock leaned over and placed a hand on his cheek. His eyes lost their focus as everything became blurry again.  
"Greg!" Greg blinked. A face was in front of his, surrounded by halo of black wavy something, Sherlock’s hair his mind provided for him. He ignored it as he tried to keep breathing instead of seeing.   
"Gregory Lestrade. Don't you dare! Fight!" Greg tried so hard to keep his eyes open. He wanted to, he didn’t want to leave Sherlock with that look in his eyes. He couldn’t. Seems as his body had other ideas. He really did try to open his eyes, but the heaviness was just too strong, as blackness overcame him, he could hear his name being yelled.

 

Sherlock stood rigid and unmoving, his eyes opened but unseeing. His scarf gone, his coat and clothes full of blood, by now some bits were damp, other clammy with his hand flaky and peeling in the lines of his hands. There were tears in his eyes, his cheeks wet. He didn’t even try to wipe it away.  
"Sherlock?" He turned to John. John who was standing close behind without his jacket and scarf; whose hands were just as red as his. It was under his nails. Everywhere. On everything. He could smell the copper on both of them. It was seeping into his pores.   
“Sherlock?” John called again, finally Sherlock blinked and focused on John.  
"Come on, we need to get to the hospital. Their taking him to Barts. We need to call your brother. He will probably be able to get him the best and immediate care." John said as he walked towards the car. The one he and Greg and Sally came in. Sherlock just followed. He didn't say anything as he climbed in. John got in the driver seat.  
“Sally caught the girl; she said she'll handle everything on that side. She'll meet us at the hospital as soon as she's able." Sherlock just stared ahead. Sherlock indicated that he heard, however he did not made an attempt to call Mycroft.   
John started driving. After a while tried again.   
"Sherlock. Call Mycroft, he can arrange for us to be on the next of kin list. We stand a better chance with his help to be kept informed about Greg's progress." Sherlock finally looked as things we're registering. He lifted his phone.   
"Anthea. Greg's got shot. Barts. Get me and John and Mycroft on every list, immediate access and the best doctors and surgeons. I'll call Mycroft." Without saying anything else he hangs up. “What do I tell Mycroft? He flat lined in the ambulance John, he flat lined.” Sherlock voice was soft and faltering.   
“Don’t tell him that, do you want me to call him?”  
“No.” looking down at his phone he dialled.

Mycroft was standing in the kitchen, preparing the lamb. The vegetables were soaking in some water and the rice waiting to be cooked. He smiled thinking how close he came to losing Gregory and how he struggled these past few weeks without him. He was so happy and grateful that Greg was giving him a second chance, he was so not going to mess this up and tonight things would be better. Taking out the necessary spices and glaze his phone rang. He closed his eyes, Anthea knows that he had the rest of the day off; no one is supposed to call him. An inexplicable dread filled his stomach when he noticed the caller id. It had to be serious for Sherlock to be calling him. "Sherlock?"   
He didn't remember much after that. Everything his brother said he heard. It registered. His brain processed the information; however the rest of him was in limbo. Greg was shot. He was shot several times. In his chest. The chest that contains his lungs and heart. For the first time in his life he couldn’t function. His brain somehow had shut down, and didn’t want to reboot. He was aware that his driver entered the house and switched off the appliances, he was aware that said driver was also helping him to put on his coat and handed him his phone, wallet and anything else he might need.   
He was aware that he was led to his car and helped inside. It was only when he entered the hospital and saw his brother that some sort of control came back.   
"Sherlock?" John and Sherlock turned. John was surprised. Mycroft was dressed in dark blue jeans with a light green shirt, his black scarf and coat. No umbrella, no intimidation or power could be seen. Just a man who might lose everything.   
"Mycroft." Sherlock looked so sad and broken, and absolutely regretful that Mycroft immediately assumed the worst. He stumbled back.  
"Gregory. Oh God!" Sherlock grabbed his lapels.   
"He's not...I mean... their still trying..." John stepped up.  
"He is still in surgery. Anthea was able to get some of the country's best surgeons. She also sent a staggering amount of extra blood. They are doing all they can." Mycroft’s shoulders sagged in relief, but still tense enough. He nodded and looked at them, really taking in their state for what it was. He saw the exhaustion, the dried blood, the dirty ruined clothes and lack of some on them. His mind automatically filling in the blanks. John and Sherlock used their scarfs to stop the bleeding; John’s jacket was probably used as a pillow or blanket. From the blood stains they were very close to Greg, practically bending down to him, from the stains on their knees there was a blood pool. He turned towards Sherlock and saw the evidence of his crying the blood stained, flaky hands grasping his lapels. He looked at John. John was mentally so tired but aware, he was used to this, had seen it on the battlefield. His eyes also had a tragic trace in them; he knew the chances of Greg’s survival were not guaranteed. It took an awful lot of mental power not to break down, to remind him to stay strong. His rationality and logic were needed. The breakdown just has to wait.   
"My deepest and most sincere gratitude for what you did John. I shall forever be in your debt. If I may ask, could you contact Anthea again and have her sending some spare clothes for you and my brother?"   
"I took the initiative sir." They turned to the door. Anthea was standing there with bags. She looked at them, and swallowed the knot in her throat. She had to be strong. For them. She walked closer and held both bags out to John. He took it.   
She glanced at Sherlock then to Mycroft, who nodded.   
"I'll wait here; let you know as soon as I know something.”  
"Thank you my dear." Mycroft said and then gently he took Sherlock's hands. Not in the least bit uncomfortable with the dried blood.  
"Sherlock? Let's get you and John cleaned up." Sherlock nodded and then followed as they walked towards the bathroom. Anthea stared at them. Her heart breaking. John was surprised as Sherlock made no attempt to stop Mycroft from helping him, or to lead him to the bathroom down the hall. He looked lost and unsure. He was used to seeing victims and crime scenes, and something about being in one, seeing it happen triggered something in him, and wondered once more exactly what happened to his friend in these two years. He was brought back from his thoughts when Anthea called him.  
"John?" He turned to her.  
"Can I go ahead and call Miss. Morstan? Or maybe Mrs. Hudson?" He thought for a minute.   
"No. Maybe after we got some news? I think Mycroft and Sherlock should be alone until they at least can get their composure back. A little." He added as an afterthought. She nodded.   
“As you wish." 

John was once again speechless as he watched how Mycroft helped Sherlock to remove the soiled clothes and turned on the showers. It was clear he knew what he was doing and what the routine is. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as he helped his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

1.6

It took the three a little over an hour to get properly cleaned up and to get rid of the blood.  Several times Mycroft wanted to take a moment and just get his brain to process the whole ordeal, especially with the amount of red flowing down the drain.  He didn’t even look at the Sherlock’s and John dirty clothes, he just bundle it in the black bags for Anthea to destroy.  When they left the bathroom they took seats in the closest waiting area, Anthea had supplied coffee and tea with a range of snacks and biscuits, but it was of no use.  The cups were half full, already ice cold.  Every now and then the sound of her texting could be heard.  

Waiting periods are overrated and tedious Mycroft decided, now that everyone was cleaned up and just sitting, waiting for news, the adrenaline was over and the nerves were strung up like tight washing lines.  Mycroft had his eyes closed his fingers crossed into fists.  

With every passing minute the atmosphere increased in tension.  The longer the surgery was the worse Greg's condition was, on the other hand it meant he was still alive.  Mycroft was desperate for answers, yet he couldn't bring himself to break the silence.  

John was worried.  He really wanted to call Mary, or someone.  Hardly a month after Sherlock's return and its back to chases and adventure.  Although at the moment he is unsure of the consequences of the latest case.  If Greg dies... he had a vague suspicion that everything will fall apart if he dies.  Just looking at Mycroft as he sat there gave him a clear indication that there would be severe consequences if something were to happen to Greg.   He may not have been the man's biggest supporter, and maybe he should've tried to understand him better in the past, but it's clear that Greg is one major factor in his life.  And Sherlock's.  The way he handled the situation today was clear.  For the first time in a very long time John wished he knew more about Sherlock's life before he came in the picture.  

Sherlock just stared ahead.   He didn't acknowledge anyone or anything.   He was aware that his brother helped him cleaned up and now they are both waiting for news about Greg.  He couldn't get the picture of Greg lying in a pool of his blood out of his head; it kept replaying his head in and endless loop.  Greg usually a lot more tanned than other, especially against him and Mycroft was for once paler than them, and he knows its blood loss.  The blood that mixed with his saliva as it bubbled out of his mouth.   The way he held onto his hand as he begged him to tell him he loves Mycroft.  That he is forgiven.   That he is proud of him.  Sherlock choked back a gasp.  Mycroft immediately grabbed his hand as John grabbed his other one. 

"Sherlock."  John tried to calm him to no avail, he needed to tell Mycroft what happened, what he said. Sherlock turned to his brother.  

"He thought he was going to die.  He thought of you and started fighting back."  Mycroft felt the air leave his lungs.  He could feel the walls constricting him.  He wanted to tell his brother to stop talking but at the same time he wants to encourage him to say more.  He turned back to Sherlock before he could go on.

"Mycroft.  He called out your name.  He said I must tell you that it's all okay.  That you're forgiven.  That he loves you.  That you’re his everything, his life.  I told him to shut up, he can tell you himself.   He will tell you!" Sherlock was trying to get his emotions in check but the desperation was clearly in his voice.   His hands were shaking and he was grasping the scarf around Mycroft’s neck.  Mycroft closed his eyes and swallowed.   One hand was tight in his brother's, the other clenching Sherlock's shoulder.   Anthea was watching as small tears run down her face.  This was so messed up.  Mycroft leaned forward and Sherlock took the opportunity to bury his face in his brother’s neck.  Any other day he would be so surprised, he used to long for the chance to just hold his brother or that there could be anything else besides this animosity, now that he has it, he didn’t want it.  Not like this.  Not over the potential death of the man he loves.  Taking a breath he focused his attention back to the problem at hand.  He leaned in closer to Sherlock.

"Gregory is strong dear brother.  He is resilient and stubborn.   Don't fret."

"You're fretting too." Sherlock whispered.   Mycroft gave a quick smile

"Yes. And he will take us out for it."

"There was so much blood.  So much.  I keep seeing it.  I can't delete it brother.  It doesn't want to delete."  Mycroft grabbed him tighter. 

"Sherlock stop!  I'm sorry.  Try to focus on what we know.  What are the facts?  that is the only way we will get through this.  All right?"

Sherlock looked up, the wheels turning in his head.  Mycroft needed to help him with this so he went on.

"One it was through and through what does it mean?"  Sherlock took a breath and spoke.

"Minimal risk of internal damage."  He glanced at John to get confirmation.   John nodded.

"Good.  What about the surgery?"

"It's been a few hours - 5 hours 32 minutes - which are good and bad.  Good means he's alive and fighting, bad because it could mean complications." He turned back to John.   John nodded again and softly added.

"We would've heard if there was complications,  we are quite literally a few metres from the theatre he was shot three times,  meaning it would take longer as they would have to be thorough in making sure all areas is covered and not in danger.  On top of that they would transfer blood continuously and make sure he's lungs are clean.  It will take a while.  But as Mycroft said Greg is very strong and resilient.  Has to be, if he survived the two of you all these years."  He gently smiled and to his surprise both Sherlock and Mycroft chuckled.   

"We toughen him up, didn’t we?"

"Most assuredly dear brother."  They looked at each other with a smile.

It was quiet and John was uncertain how to deal with this showing of love between them, however before he could dwell on it his phone rang.

"Excuse me." He whispered as he stood up and walked away a few steps to answer.  Mycroft and Sherlock moved apart and sat as before.  Both feeling a bit more assured.  Mycroft had so many things running through his mind.  The things Sherlock told him, replying over and over

Greg forgave him. Greg loves him.  The problem is that it won't matter of he dies.  What is he supposed to do with the forgiveness and the love if Gregory is dead?  And by the state of the clothes and blood he found on them, Greg must've lost a lot.  Maybe too much?  John’s voice interrupted his thought process as he returned.

"Mary sends her love and to tell you to be positive."  Sherlock just made a sound of acknowledgement.  Mycroft looked at John, his mask back on.

"Thank you John.  I appreciate it.  And like I said earlier, for all you did.  And maybe I should use the opportunity to apologise for the plans; I mean the events, the trickery for the Sherlock dying, the whole plan..." John was surprised.   Not only did Mycroft struggle to say what he wanted, but his mask was falling and he could see the turmoil of emotions in it. His voice was soft and so close to breaking that he step in and took him by the shoulders.   Mycroft jerked in surprised but John held on.

"I should apologise. For a lot actually, and I'm sure you can read it, but for now, don't worry about it.   You have enough on your plate, and I may have not really taken the time to know how much you deal with on a daily basis, I just assumed you're a Holmes and invincible.  My mistake.   You’re doing the best you can, and right now you need to hold on and be strong for Greg.   The two of you are trying to rebuild your relationship.  Focus on that."  Mycroft swallowed and looked away.   Sherlock looked between them but stayed quiet.  John put his phone back and sat down again.

It was another half an hour before the silence was broken.

"Did you know that Mummy and father went to see him?"

Sherlock turned his head.

"Lestrade?"

"They were worried and concerned about the split and about him; they lied to me, said that they had a dinner date, instead they went to him and fed him."

"Sounds like Mummy.  She's very taking with Lestrade, always doting on him.  He loved it.  I mean loves it." Mycroft laughed softly. 

"He does.  I think it's because he never had that, he have both of them so wrapped around his fingers.  The first time I introduced him; he was so at home and relaxed.  Mummy was just happy someone finally ate of his own free will, she offered cake and snacks and he accepted.  Even had seconds and chatted like they've been friends of years.  She even asked me, straight away.   When she can call him her eldest son?"

"What?" Sherlock exclaimed his eyes wide drilling into Mycroft’s.   John started giggling and Anthea was smiling fondly.  Mycroft just shrugged as Sherlock went on.

"She did what?”

"My sentiment exactly you can only imagine the horror."  Mycroft tried to sound appalled but the smile in the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Before he could continue the door to the theatre opened.   The atmosphere instantly became tensed and loaded with dread.  Mycroft nearly jumped up, straight as a pole.  The rest stood up as well.  They were in one line, looking like soldiers at attention.  The doctor stepped closer until he stood in front of Mycroft.

"Mr. Holmes.   It was very close; he’s very strong and stubborn.   We lost him a few times, but he pulled through."  Mycroft felt the air sucked out of his lungs.  Anthea grabbed his hand and squeezed.  John relaxed and smiled.  Sherlock blinked and kept standing still.

“What is the extent of his injuries?” John asked as Mycroft and Sherlock focused back on the doctor.

“Three gunshot wound, one missed his heart by an inch and went straight through, one got stuck in the sternum, and the third one went in between the 5th and 6th rib, tearing through the muscle, scraping the outside of the lung, it was straight through as well.  There is damage, but a whole lot less, than normally.  The fact that the major organs were missed is actually astonishing.  If all three was straight through he would’ve bled out.  With physio and rest you should make a full recovery.  With all due respect Mr. Holmes someone is watching over Detective Lestrade because the shooter was horrible.

They stood still as they absorb the information, John was scared that Sherlock would have some kind of snarky comment about how lucky Greg was and how horrible the shooter, but none was forthcoming, instead he just nodded and looked at his brother.  Mycroft looked as though he was trying very hard not to start crying, the relief in his eyes was so clear and bright as he gave the doctor a slight smile

"Thank you Doctor.  Can we see him?  Please." Mycroft added.  

"Soon.  They are moving him to intensive care.  Unfortunately tonight I won't allow any visitors, in person but you can observe through the glass.  Tomorrow if his vitals have improved I will allow you to sit by him.  As long as you'd like."  Mycroft just nodded.  The doctor excused himself with the promise that the nurse will come get them as soon as Greg was settled.

Mycroft couldn't stand after the adrenalin left and collapsed back in his chair.   Anthea sat down next to him and before he could object she had her arms around him.  John and Sherlock stared as Mycroft hugged her back.

"I'm so happy for you sir.  It’s going to be okay now.  Just stay positive."  She whispered in his neck as a few tears fell from her eyes.  Mycroft hugged her tighter.

"Thank you my dear. For everything."

She slowly let go of him and smiled at him, he mirrored her smile."

"You're welcome.   I'll make arrangements that you're unavailable, and I will arrange for some clothes and other things you may need." With one last hand squeeze she smiled at the other men and left.

As soon as she left Sally came in.  

"How is he?"  It was clear that she have been crying.   Sherlock answered. 

"He made it. They are moving him to intensive care, but the prognosis is positive."

Sally burst out crying again with relief.

"Oh thank God!" And with that she threw her arms around Sherlock in a hug.   She immediately let go as she realised what she did.

"Sorry."

Sherlock didn't reply but just smiled and cleared his throat.  Mycroft and John found it quite amusing.

"The shooter?"  John asked as she wiped her face.

"Custody.  She was also the shooter yesterday.  Sherlock was right about everything.  Turns out that she was having an affair with the victim’s husband as well. One big drama."

Mycroft wasn’t paying attention to Sally, he was looking at the nurse who was on her way towards them.  He put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, to get his attention.  All of them turned as one as she came closer.

"Excuse me?  I've come to take you DI. Lestrade’s room?”

"Yes.  Thank you.  Lead the way." The nurse smiled and left leading the way.

She lead them to the intensive care unit, Greg was in his own private room.   The sides were wall but the front was glass with those automatic doors.  Although the room was bright the small overhead lights were on.   Mycroft staggered as he saw him.  The shock nearly tripped him.

Greg looked horrible.  That's the only word he could think of.  Horrendous.

Greg looked as though he lost ten pounds in one hour.   He was so pale, he was nearly translucent.   The beautiful brown skin was so ashen.   His eyes were closed but it looked as though it had sunken half an inch.  His chest had dressings on, with wires attached to so many parts; he looked like a puppet hanging on strings.  Strings made out of wires and tubes with red crimson blood being transferred.  There was a catheter at the end of the bed, bag still empty.   His hair was flat against his scalp it looked sweaty and oily - Mycroft hated it.  He wasn’t the only one.   Sherlock just stared ahead taking it all in.  His posture rigid.  A still and silent statue, seeing and engraving everything in his mind palace.  Sally started crying again her hands clasped in front of her mouth, a silent praying posture.  John took a deep breath his hands clutched into fist, vibrating with exhaustion and concern.  Although he was used to sights like this, the fact that it was Greg, a man whom he have known for several years, made him unable to see it from a doctor’s perspective.  Instead he saw a friend, a newly fixed relationship friend fighting for his life.

Mycroft leaned his head against the glass, his fingers smudging the bright light reflection on it.

"Oh Gregory, my dearest heart.”  He whispered softly, his breath obscuring his view as he spoke.   He wasn’t even aware that he uttered the words out loud.  Sherlock quickly looked at him, but turned back to Greg.  No one said anything.   There was nothing to say.   So they stood, staring at the man in the bed.  Each one silently willing him to wake up.  He didn't.

 

It was quite late when Mary called.  John promised to be back soon and left.  Sally left after, having to finished the paperwork and report back to the station.  Sherlock refused to leave his brother's side.  He did pushed one of those weird design sofas closer.  Those that looked comfortable and state of the art, but was just one cold and hard length of hard cushions.   Still it was better than the plastic chairs.  They sat there, looking at Greg.   No one spoke. Each lost in his own mind, dealing with the events as best as they could.

 


	7. Chapter 7

1.7

By the shift change the next morning both Mycroft and Sherlock was uncomfortable, stiff and tensed. They have spent the entire night in front of Greg’s room, either just sitting or walking up and down the hallway.   
They’ve spent hours in their minds, each in his own world, assessing the situation, dealing with it and coming to terms with the new developments. However they spent it the night they would always stop and stare at the man in the bed. Who was completely unaware of what was happening around him. 

By now they both had memorised Greg's stats and could immediately tell when something was happening. They knew every beep and sound and what it represents to Greg. The nurses ignored them and went on with their work. They have stopped with the blood transfusion around four in the morning. Mycroft felt like putting up a fuss, as clearly as Greg’s colour hasn't improved. 

After a whole night of silence Sherlock was the first to speak. He had observed Greg and the attaching wires and bags when he noticed it. He tilted his head, the beginning of a smile on his lips, he turned to Mycroft.  
"It's a good sign when his bladder is working right?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes and turned to Sherlock who just nodded towards the bed. Mycroft looked and caught on. The catheter bag was half full. He started to smile a bit. Some tension leaving his shoulders.  
"Yes. It actually means his kidneys is unaffected, especially the lack of blood in his urine. It's a very good sign."  
"So bladder and kidneys are fully functional, and his stomach and pancreas are working well, as there’s no sign of distress. Nothing happened during the night, his stats improved by I’ll say 17.5 %."  
"Make it 18%. I can deal with that, the less organs affected, the better his recovery."  
"He was fortunate to have a terrible shooter." Mycroft rolled his eyes.   
"I think he'll be happy to hear that."  
"He should."

It was quiet again, the sounds of the machines have become a bit of a comfortable lullaby to both of them. It meant Greg was okay and alive. Now that the silence was broken; Sherlock was hesitant to let it linger again.   
"You were cooking for him?" Mycroft leaned back against the back of the sofa, he nodded, a wistful smile on his lips.  
"Lamb roast. His favourite. "  
"Sentimental fool."  
"Me or him?" Mycroft asked with some amusement. Some light back in his eyes as he looked at his brother, who smiled back.   
"Both."  
"Yes well. It's all ruined now."  
"You can make it again. When he goes home."  
"Back to his flat or our home?"  
"Wherever you are. As disgusting as it is to admit, you’re apparently his home. And since he has forgiven you, and had a near death experience he will be all for being with you, I think it’s called “make up for lost time” or something."  
"His mine. I’ll gladly put up with the ‘make up for lost time’ since I came very close to having no time at all.”  
They were quiet again. 

Mycroft stood up again to lean against the glass wall. Sherlock watch him with growing concern. He knows his brother is keeping all the emotions locked up inside. This was a massive shock, he knows his brother is a lot more feeling and caring than he would admit to, and something like this, will takes its toll.  
He was so emotionally drained, everything in him just wanted to collapse and restore itself to how things was a week ago.   
He wanted to cry. He hasn't done that since he was a little boy. He eyes misted over as he watched Greg in the bed.   
"You shouldn't be so still. You shouldn't be so still. Move Gregory, move." He softly whispered. Greg didn't listen. He stayed unmoving while the machines doing the work for him.   
Sherlock just bowed his head; he had no idea how to handle this. He will never forget that image in his head. Greg, lying in his own blood pool. He turned to the oncoming doctor and stood up.   
Mycroft seeing his reaction composed his face and turned as well.   
"Doctor."  
"Mr. Holmes."  
"Can I go in now?" Mycroft asked. He really didn't want to deal with anyone and especially not about unnecessary trivia.  
"Please allow me five minutes."  
Mycroft gave a sharp nod and watched as the doctor went in. He kept a close eye as he checked the vitals and machines before he stepped out.  
"He's looking good, still not out of the woods, but I'm very optimistic. I'll check in again sometime later today." Mycroft didn't even acknowledge him as he left before he went inside to Gregory. Sherlock actually took the lead and thank the doctor as he watched his brother. He wanted to go in, he wanted to see for himself, but this isn't the time. It's time now for Mycroft. He stepped closer as he observed his brother. Mycroft gently reached out for Greg's hand. His shoulders started to shake slightly. This was his cue to leave. He needed to make a few calls. With a last glance he walked away. 

Mycroft was very confident as he stepped inside the room; however the moment the doors hissed closed he felt all the bravado left him. He froze. He had no idea how to go from here. With slow deliberate steps he walked till he stood next to the bed.   
His throat closed in as if being strangled. Greg looked so small and fragile. It's even worse now that he's standing so close. The brown skin was still to light and pale to soothe his mind. His eyes still sunken with a dark purplish halo around it. His lips were cracked as the breathing tube was stuck down his throat and the small tape plastered against his cheeks. The stubble that had grown since yesterday was a very dark contrast to his pale skin. Even the grey hairs in his beard looked dark. He hated it.   
No, he loathed it. He wanted his sun-touched Gregory back. Afraid to hurt him even more he slowly took hold of the motionless hand. He nearly jerked back in response, the warm summer calloused hands were cold. Ice cold. He felt his knees buckling and quickly grabbed the chair close by. He half sat, fall into the chair. His fingers curling in Greg’s.   
"Oh Gregory, please wake up for me. Please" He softly begged as he finally gave in to his emotions and laid his head on the edge and let the tears fall. Greg didn’t squeeze back.  
"Kintsukuroi only works when there's life my dearest. You're the silver for my broken parts."  
The bed stayed still.

For two days Mycroft sat next to the bed, the total amount of time he was not there was a total of 2 hours and 24 minutes. 58 Minutes of that time he was showering, eating a few snacks and bites either Anthea or Mrs. Hudson brought. The rest of the time was when the nurses and doctor was with him, they have changed his dressings twice and he still had no idea what the wounds looked like or how exactly apart the holes were.   
John and Mary came by a few times, but he was the proverbial man of little words, short sentences and one word answers was the most they got out of him. Sherlock was there more than anyone else. He would either sit outside on the sofa, or on the opposite of Mycroft. They didn’t need to talk, with one glance they would have all the conversation needed. 

To be honest, Sherlock was getting real worried, one of the nurses suggested he get out, even take a night off to get some proper rest and the look he gave her. She hasn’t been back yet. He needed to call reinforcements, as they would say. Someone Mycroft wouldn’t dare to oppose or fight against. He looked at his watch, 7am. He had time.  
He waited until Mycroft was taking a nap, his head resting on the bed before he left. Outside he took out his phone and dialled. He called them the moment he left the hallway. The phone was picked up on the second ring.  
“Hello Mummy?”

First he needed a shower, and maybe a quick rest, the oncoming days are going to be busy and emotional ridden, he needed to properly prepare. As soon as he got home he noticed that he was alone. Mrs. Hudson had gone shopping. He looked around; the flat was pretty much the same as he left it the previous day, the day Greg got shot. He took a breath and closed his eyes. He was tired, and if he was tired and tensed, how so much more his brother?  
First things first he decided on a very nice long hot bath. Thereafter a couple hours of sleep until his parents arrived. 

It was still early afternoon when Sherlock woke up to the sound of conversation. Stretching he walked out to find both his parents and Mrs Hudson all chatting. The noises were low, and a bit tensed. As soon as his mother saw him she ran and pulled him a tight hug. Sherlock hugged her back. He buried his face in her neck and just inhaled her scent. He would never admit out loud how much he actually loves his mom’s hugs. She was softly crying as she held him.   
"Oh Sherlock. How are you holding up? Where's Mycroft?" His mum asked when she got her breathing under control.   
"I’m fine. At the hospital. He hasn't left." Picking her handbag she turned to the door.  
"Well we should go too. My sons need us. Sherlock will you take us?"   
"Of course.” He answered as he picked up his coat. A small smile around his lips. She said ‘sons’ and he’ll bet it isn’t just him and Mycroft she is thinking about. 

An hour later they were at the hospital. They made their way to his room. Because of who Mycroft is and the power, Anthea was able to get him and any visitors (meaning pre-arranged) unlimited access. The closer they got to his room the slower Sherlock was walking. His mother noticed and took his hand. He let her. The sofa was still outside the room. Empty.   
"Oh." Sherlock turned sharply to his mom, and then to the cause of her distress. Mycroft was still sitting in the chair, one hand firmly in Greg’s, the other resting against Greg's neck, close to his pulse. He had taken off his coat and rolled it up as a pillow. It was obvious he was sleeping. Sherlock felt his mother squeezing his hand firmer, or he was squeezing hers. His dad stopped walking and placed his hand on his heart as though to remind him not to fail.   
"I'll wait here." Sherlock said softly as he let his mom's hand go and walked over to the sofa. His dad put his arm around his mom and together they walked into the room.   
Mycroft didn't wake until his mom gently whispered to him. His eyes slowly blinked open and as realisation about his whereabouts became clear he gave a slight jerk.  
"Shh. It's okay Mikey. It's just me and dad." With a nod he ran his hands through his hear and wiped the sleep out of his eyes.   
"Mummy? Father? How?"  
Mycroft tried to keep the emotion out of his face but his mother saw right through him. "Sherlock called us; he was worried about you and Greg of course. Come here." She instructed and he wasted no time to hug her close. Since he was sitting she was able to hold him close and gave the top of his head a kiss.   
"I'm so sorry about all this, but he'll be okay. He will be up and about in no time. Just keep holding on."  
"He doesn't look like my Gregory." Mycroft mumbled as he held on. He wasn't planning on saying that out loud, but it's the one thing that he couldn't get out of his head.   
After a while he finally let go.   
"Sorry about that." He said while trying to straighten his clothes.   
"No apologies. It's okay to be upset Mikey." His dad placed his hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze.   
"Son. Your brother says you've been here the whole time; don’t you want to take a walk? "  
"No. I'm not leaving him. He can wake anytime.” What if I'm not here? What if he thinks I don't care? All these questions ran through his mind and it was clear that his father saw it all.  
"Son. Walk with me to the cafeteria, or the bathroom. Let's stretch your legs for a while." That sounded like a good idea. His body was so stiff and tensed. His mother slowly nudged him further.  
"Go on. I'll wait here until you come back."  
With a sigh he relented and stood up, his body protesting as he did.   
"I'll be right back Gregory." He gave Greg one last look filled with longing and stepped back.   
He said as he gave his mom a quick smile and allowed his dad to lead him out. Sherlock walked over to them and Mycroft smiled.   
"Thank you brother mine."  
Sherlock just nodded.   
"Mycroft and I are going to take a walk, maybe get a coffee, do you want to come with?” Sherlock shook his head.  
"I'll stay." He could see that Mycroft didn't want to leave Greg and he needed someone to look out for him.  
"As you wish." Mycroft gave him silent thanks as he walked away with his dad. 

Sherlock turned and entered Greg's room. His mother was sitting in the vacant chair, her hands making small circles on Greg's arm.  
"How many times was he shot?"  
"Three times."  
"He was incredibly lucky."  
"The shooter was terrible, to miss all his major organs at such a close range."  
"Thank goodness for that."  
"Yes. Indeed."  
"Mikey is taking this very hard. Have they worked out their problems? "  
"They were supposed to have dinner that night. They were working on it. Mycroft was cooking Gregory's favourite."  
"He feels guilty and responsible. That makes it even harder for him."  
"It wasn't his fault. He had nothing to feel guilty about." His mother just gave him a fond smile.  
"What about you?"  
"Me? I didn't shot him."  
"Sherlock. You felt guilt with your betrayal to John, it wasn't your fault, yet you felt responsible for John. This is the same. Feeling guilty and responsible isn't a willing emotion."  
Sherlock didn't respond as he watched his mom and Greg.


	8. Chapter 8

1.8

Mycroft absolutely refused to go home. He argued that everything he needed was close by, the shower, a chair, the sofa and besides he had enough snack and food from his parents and Mrs. Hudson have been bringing – his mother just added during the day. He hardly ate anyway, his appetite even worse than normal.   
John and Mary came to visit, again, but he didn't talk much to them. His parents however were delightful to meet Mary and chatted to the couple.   
Sherlock tried to talk, but his attention and mind were elsewhere. Every time Mycroft had to leave Greg for a while, Sherlock would keep watch. Sherlock was really worried about his brother in these three days, his wardrobe consists of jeans; button up shirts and his loafers. John was openly surprised; he didn’t think the man owned a pair of jeans. He can clearly see that his parents visit was making a difference, but he wasn’t sure if it was enough. Lestrade needed to wake up, and soon.

That evening Mycroft was alone with Greg. Sherlock was taking their parents to his home and would bring them back the next morning. He was actually a little relieved to be alone once again with Greg, even though he was the only one conscious and talking. The fact was that he could talk to Greg without having to watch what he say, nor mask his face. He was free to say what he wants to, look how he wanted to, without worrying who sees.

As before he would sit with one hand in Greg’s, the other touching his neck. They've had to empty the catheter bag once during the day, but the breathing tube was still in. His colour had improved with approximately 15% according to Mycroft's calculations.   
According to John and Sherlock Greg should be halfway to waking up in the next 24hours.   
He would wait. Patiently.

Mycroft must have fallen asleep during the night, because there was a noise that woke him up. It took him just under a minute to realise it came from the monitor. The one connected to Greg's heart rate. It was faster.   
He quickly stood up and leaned closer.   
He took a breath as tears spilled out of his eyes. Greg's eyes were open.   
"Gregory?" He whispered and smiled as the heart rate increased even further. He felt a small squeeze in his hand and looked down. Greg was trying to squeeze his hand.   
"Oh Gregory." He didn't even try to stop the tears, Greg tried to smile or something but the tube was preventing it. His eyes narrowed.   
"Shh. Don't try to talk. Do you remember what happened? Are you in pain?"   
Greg frowned even further and Mycroft could see the realisation of what happened. It was as if a dam broke and Greg started thrashing around. He became more agitated and fretful when he realised he couldn't talk. The monitors were going crazy and the sound shrill in the quiet room.   
"Nurse!" Mycroft yelled as he placed his hands on Greg's shoulders.   
"Gregory! Stop! Calm down. Please." Greg eyes were wide open. He was terrified. He couldn’t breathe and he was interrupting the machines doing it for him. His hands grabbed Mycroft’s shirt in a tight hold. The risk of him ripping the buttons off was strong. Mycroft could feel the adrenalin surging through his veins, the worry close behind.   
He tried to get Greg’s attention.  
"Don't try to breathe, let the machine do it, calm down. Focus on me. Please, dearest.” He whispered the last part, but that was what apparently worked.  
Greg had calmed down a little bit more but his vitals were still uneven. His eyes back on Mycroft, his hands still in a tight fisted grip on his shirt. They stared at each other, Mycroft trying his best to calm him down. Two nurses came running in to take over and pushed Mycroft away. The moment Mycroft disappeared from Greg's sight he started thrashing again.   
The nurses struggled to calm him and it’s only when one realised it's Mycroft's absence that she pulled him close.  
"Talk to him. Let him see you!"  
Greg was not calming down or responding to the nurses. They were afraid that he would rip his stitches and Mycroft could see that was a valid concern, on top of the thrashing Greg had started sweating and tears were running down his eyes. He stepped closer to the bed, at the top, next to his head. He put his hand gently on Greg’s cheek.  
“Gregory.” He tried again.  
It's only when Mycroft was in Greg’s sight and felt his hand on his cheek that he relaxed. By now the tape around his mouth were loosened as he struggled and the glue came undone with the sweat and tears that were running down his face. He was calming down, but not nearly enough to satisfy levels.   
The nurse spoke up.  
"Sir? You need to calm down, Stop moving.” Mycroft moved so that he was level with Greg, their faces only obscured by the apparatus.  
"Gregory. Look at me. Please. "  
Greg was holding onto Mycroft’s arms like his life dependent on it. Slowly and steady he relaxed.   
"There we go. Just relax. Don’t worry about anything.”  
"Mr. Lestrade, I'm going to give you something to make you relax and will help with the pain."  
He ignored the nurse and kept looking at Mycroft. His eyes started to flutter close as he struggled to keep them open Mycroft could see that this episode had taking the last bit of strength Greg had, every bit of energy he gathered these past few day, while unconscious was gone. He needed to sleep again, he needed to recuperate and as much as he wanted him to stay awake, have the chance to talk to Greg, he needed to convince him to sleep.  
"Gregory, your body needs to heal. I need you to try and get some sleep."  
Greg gave shook his head slightly. With renewed effort he tried to squeeze Mycroft's hand. The monitor was increasing in its noise.   
Mycroft leaned forward a bit more so that their foreheads were touching, his mouth close to his ear, with his free hand he ran it through Greg's hair.   
"Shh. Relax. You need your rest. Your body had a tremendous shock. I'll stay here. I won't leave you. I won’t ever leave.”  
He continued to whisper and repeat the words as the nurse injected some medicine and Greg slowly relax and fell asleep again.   
He didn’t know exactly when he fell asleep, but the steady rhythm of the monitor and the deep breaths the nurses gave, told him all was well. With a quick kiss to Greg’s temple he stood up, trying to straighten out his wrinkled shirt.   
He waited till the nurses were done with straighten out his blankets and made sure everything was in order before he spoke.  
"Thank you. How long will he be asleep for?"  
"About six hours. He's showing good signs of recovery, especially his lungs after this ordeal. When he wakes up again we will probably be able to remove the tube."  
"Thank you. Again."

He watched as they left and with the adrenalin rush gone he sunk back into the chair. He was calmed when one nurse came back with a small face towel and new tape. She moved to start cleaning his face when Mycroft interrupted.   
"May I?”  
"Sure. We just need to clean most of it away for the tape to hold."   
With delicacy and restraint he cleaned and wiped Greg's face. Afterwards he slowly let his hand caress one cheek.   
"He'll need to shave, his not overly fond of a beard. Says it makes him look older with the grey, I find it, and well I am fonder of it than he is." The nurse laughed softly.   
"I bet it gives him a more distinguished look."  
"It does."  
"Let me just tape this and I'll leave you be."  
"Thank you."   
As promised she was gone in less than five minutes and Mycroft took his position next to the bed. After the little excursion he was tired. As he did the morning he used his rolled up jacket as a makeshift pillow and rested. 

Mycroft parents found him waiting outside as the nurses checked Greg over and measured his vitals and stats.   
He looked exhausted, but very excited and impatient.   
"Mikey?" He looked to his mom and couldn’t hide the excitement in him.   
"He woke up!"   
"Oh that's wonderful news!" She exclaimed as she hugged him, he hugged back.   
"Oh thank goodness." His father exclaimed as he patted Mycroft's back.  
"What happened?" Sherlock asked once Mycroft was standing straight again.   
He quickly explained what had happened and that the nurses are checking him out again.  
"So when he wakes up, they will remove the tube?”  
"Yes father."  
"That's wonderful." Unable to stop smiling they walked over to his room and waited. As before the nurses hardly had time to leave the room before Mycroft was back inside. They all sat around his bed the atmosphere much lighter than before.   
It was just before ten when Greg started showing signs of waking up. Mycroft looked at Sherlock and he knew what his brother wanted. With a swift move he went to call the nurses. When he came back he joined his parents wait outside, observing through the glass.   
Mycroft clutched Greg’s hand tight in his he was so excited and anxious to look into those beautiful brown eyes again. He leaned closer and whisper. "Greg? Don't worry about the tube all right. Stay calm and focused on me. The nurses will remove the tube any moment." Greg gave his hand a slight squeeze to indicate he understood.   
Greg slowly opened his eyes and turned to Mycroft. He was so happy; there was just love and trust in those brown eyes, gazing at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and with his free hand he caressed Greg’s cheek softly.  
They didn’t speak as they waited for the nurse, just basking their little private bubble. It didn’t last long as two nurses entered.   
"All right Mr. Lestrade let's get the tube out. Your man here's been worried sick." Mycroft tried to hide his blush, but the spike in Greg’s heartbeat and the understanding in his eyes made that impossible.   
"So this is what we're going to do. I'm going to remove the tape and then slowly pull on the tube. It will be quite uncomfortable and irritating against your throat. When you feel like you want to cough, cough."

With a nod he clenched Mycroft hand close to his chest, Mycroft added his other hand and together the four tight hands braced themselves.   
"Ok. On three. One. Two. Three." She started pulling and as soon as it irritated his throat he started coughing. This placed pressure on his chest and with Mycroft's hands still firmly clutched together he could feel the muscles clenches and the dressings combine in little wrinkles and expand as he moved. For a second he hoped the stitches would hold.   
Greg closed his eyes as the tears started falling again. His face became a little flush however he presses on and the tube came out.   
"There we go. " the nurse said as she pulled the last bit. Greg continued to clutch his chest tighter, his face contorted in pain. The monitors were screaming again as he struggled to get his breathing under control   
"Steady breaths Gregory. Steady." Mycroft loosened his hands and rubbed Greg's back. He instantly calmed down and leaned towards Mycroft, who decided to make it easier for Greg sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around him.   
Greg draped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and held on for dear life. Finally breathing on his own and reasonably shallow he buried his face in Mycroft's neck.   
Mycroft was unsure of whether the wetness on his shoulder was from Greg's sweat or tears but he didn't care because he was unsure whether the wetness on Greg's shoulder was from his sweat or tears.   
The nurses looked at each other slowly walked out leaving the two men alone. One gave the small cup with some ice cubes and water to Sherlock. He turned back to his brother, it was so close. He could hear his mom's quiet sobs of happiness and in a moment of weakness, which he will forever deny, he placed on arm around her.

When it looked as though Mycroft was letting Greg go they went inside.   
Greg turned to them and his face broke out in one of the most radiant smiles exhaustion and paleness was still very evident but the fact that he was indeed alive and breathing, made him more beautiful than ever. Cheryl-Ann was the first to break the quite moment.   
"Oh Greg dear!" She rushed over and placed her hands on his cheek. She gave him quick kiss on his forehead, one arm around his shoulder, hugging him close. "We we're so worried. Never ever do something like this again. I'm not getting any younger you know."  
He gave an impish smile. "Sry" he tried to clear his throat but was still dry and scratchy. She quickly took the cup from Sherlock's hands and brought it to his mouth.   
"Small sips dear. With three holes in your chest the last thing you need is choking on some water.”   
"Yes ma'am,” he said with a soft smile. His voice was still raw and a bit scratchy but much better.   
"We'll bring you some tea tonight, and some honey. That's the best thing for a scratchy throat." Mycroft's father added while his mom was trying to straighten out his blankets. Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look at that and tried to keep their smirks away.   
Greg was laying back against the bed on hand clasped in Mycroft's, the other touching his dressings. He was curious to see the wounds, he doesn’t remember much, but he will never forget the impact and the loud sounds of those three bullets colliding with his chest. Thanks to the pain medicine the pain was manageable, but he could feel the ache all the way through to his back. It felt like having a serious case of the flu, with a heavy weight on top of him. Putting that aside for the moment he focused on the people in the room. He didn’t talk much, but he tried to follow the line of conversation. It didn’t last long.  
He was tiring out rather quickly, his responses become weaker and softer. Mycroft took his hand in both of his; it was still colder than normal. Greg was struggling to stay awake.   
Mycroft's mother saw it and turned to her husband.   
"Come on dear, got some shopping to for Greg. And he needs his rest."   
"Sorry for being a bit anti-social.” Greg whispered sheepishly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes and Sherlock looked offended.   
"Anti-social? You've met me right? And you know Mycroft right. Don't worry Lestrade, my parents know anti-social and it's not from you. This explains their fascination with you. "  
"And what explains yours?" Greg asked before anyone could. A soft smile was on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes. The others looked from one to the other. Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something nasty but finally he sighed.  
"Indeed. What?" Knowing that's the end of the conversation Mycroft's parents left. Sherlock followed.   
"Sherlock?" Greg asked as he retreated.   
"Can I have a moment?” Sherlock turned to his brother. Mycroft gave a nod and walked to the door with his parents. Before they left he quickly added.   
"Thank you. For not giving up on me. For being here. It means a lot. I'll see you tonight yeah, you'll stay though My?" Mycroft knew if he was anyone else he would've jumped as high as he could when Greg called him 'My'. Never again would he thought that term would leave Greg's mouth. There was a knot forming in his throat.   
"As long as you want me to." With a smile he walked out with his parents.   
"That's enough sentiment for one day." Sherlock said as he walked closer, yet trying to look bored. Instead he looked like a little boy, unsure of what to do.   
"Sherlock. I don’t remember much, but it will come back, I just need you know that I meant what I said. I do love you. I'm not sure whether the correct term is like a son, because that is creepy since I'm dating your brother. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you will. You deserve to know. You deserve to know what a good man you are, and how proud I am. I'm still a little angry and hurt about what happened, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Every day I thought of you and wished you were alive. And here you are. And thank you for saving my life back there. I don’t even have to ask if you caught her."  
"Of course we did. Sally did. I didn't save you. John did." Sherlock replied and he turned to look away.   
"I'm glad you're alive too. I’ve got to take Mummy shopping." With that he walked out. The doors weren’t even properly closed before Mycroft came back in.   
Greg smiled.   
"Hey."  
"Sherlock was smiling take it went well?"  
"Hmm. Good as it can be."  
Walking over he went to sit down.   
"You're tired My."  
"So are you."   
"Want to share my bed?"   
"I don't think that's a good idea.”  
"Hmmmm." Mycroft could see he wanted to say something else so he went on.  
“I’d love to, but not while there's still so many wires and a catheter to compete with.”  
"Catheter?” Greg asked as he tried to lift up his blanket. Mycroft stopped him.   
"I have a straw up my..."  
"Tube. It's necessary. Won't be for long. "  
"Eew." Greg uttered as sleep overtook him again. Shaking his head, Mycroft laid his down to get some rest as well.


	9. Chapter 9

Greg felt like a drunken cat in a laundry cycle, he had no idea what to feel, what to say or how to act.  

He remembered how he thrashed as he woke up the first time; he remembered every gasp for oxygen that wouldn't come.  Throughout the whole ordeal what he remembered the most was Mycroft.   The way he looked at him, the way he sat there 24/7, the way he didn't even try to hide the tears. 

He looked down at his chest, every time they cleaned his dressings he was asleep, he knows what is underneath he can feel it.   Three tunnels of ripped flesh straight through his body.  

With soft delicate fingers he tried to lift his dressings but was unable to see as the holes were covered with plasters.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up. Sherlock stood in the doorway with a curious expression.

"Nothing."

"You want to see the wounds?" Sherlock walked closer. 

"You want to see as well."

"Wouldn't mind. Where's my brother?"

"Shower."

"He actually left you alone?"

"He'll be here soon."

They sat there in silence, each with their own thoughts.   Every now and then Greg would tamper with the dressings and Sherlock would watch.

Finally Greg smiled.

"Come on, help me take this off." Sherlock jumped up and helped him to remove some of the dressing, when he came to the plaster his hand started to shake.

They didn't notice as Mycroft came in until he put his hands on top of Sherlock's and together they pulled the plaster off.  Neither said anything as they stared at the wounds.  In the hospital it all looks different.   Instead of three gaping holes, there were three small lines with about six or seven stitches.

"This is a bit anti-climactic." Greg looked at Sherlock and then back down again.

Sherlock didn't reply as he kept staring at his chest.   Greg turned his eyes to Mycroft and couldn't resist the shiver that ran down his spine.  He couldn't decide whether the look was of pure anguish, rage, pain or relief. 

"My?" He whispered.   Sherlock quickly looked towards Greg and then to his brother.  Mycroft ignored Greg's call and took a step back. 

"Mycroft?" Sherlock tried to get his attention but nothing.   After a while the look in his eyes turned to anger.

"You promised!"

"My?" Greg was confused but as Mycroft stared he realised what he meant.  Mycroft couldn't stop himself as he spoke.

"You promised you'd be safe!  You promised that you'd be here and that we will work this out!  How are we supposed to work it out if you're dead? How can you promise me you'd be safe with three holes in you?  Right through Gregory!  Three bullets.  I saw the crime photos.  I saw the blood on my brother’s hands!  It was on his clothes, soaked through! Your blood.   I helped him to wash it off, I saw it flowing down the drain and the only thing I can think of is that it should be flowing in your veins, not the drain pipes." It was noiseless in the room, Mycroft was breathing heavily and Sherlock had taken a step back and his eyes mirrored Greg as they stared.   This was the most emotion they've seen on him in public.  He looked broken as he stepped closer to Greg and grabbed his hands.

"How am I supposed to be forgiven when you're not here?  You know Kintsukuroi only works if there's a future to enjoy it?"

Greg turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock can you give us a moment?  And maybe get a nurse to get new dressings?" Sherlock gave a quick nod and walked out. 

"My, come here." Mycroft slowly stepped closer.

Greg pulled him close and Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed.   Greg held on to him tight as he whispered.

"I'm sorry.   I'm so sorry for scaring you.   For nearly breaking my promise.   For the pain I've caused you." He kept holding on as Mycroft buried hid face in his neck, his arms around Gregory in a tight hold.  Greg knew this could be dangerous for his wounds but couldn’t make a move to let go.

When Mycroft finally did go he placed his hands on either side of Greg's face.

"I want to kiss you."  A face-splitting smile broke through his face, tears running down his face. 

"Please." Mycroft leaned forward until their breaths we're mixed.  Mycroft finally closed the gap and locked his lips with Greg's.   It was gentle and soft, Greg’s lips were chapped and dry but Mycroft couldn't care less.   For the first time in months his lips were home.  He was kissing Gregory a privilege he thought he would never have again.   It was more than he could ever hope for.   His hands moved on their own accord from Greg's back to his neck.  Both hands encased his pulse points and he could feel his increasing heart rate.   Greg was the first to open his mouth and let his tongue slide across Mycroft's lips.  It was heavenly.   Mycroft opened his mouth to let Greg in, just as he opened his heart, mind, body and soul for every part that was Gregory.   Their tongues slide and guided each other into each other’s home,  the familiarity warming them up from inside.

When they parted they rested their foreheads together, trying to get their breathing back to normal.

"Wow." Greg gravely whispered.   Mycroft could only nod.  Greg took hold of Mycroft's hands around his neck and brought it to his chest, holding it tight.

"We have so much to discuss, you know." Mycroft groaned.

"Do we have to?”

"Yes. You know that, we have to talk about what happened before and what's going to happen henceforth.   This anger needs to dissipate; I don't want you to have a breakdown like before."

"I didn't have a breakdown."

"That's the most emotion I've ever seen from you in public, even Sherlock was scared."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  You have nothing to be sorry about.   That's normal My, heavens know how I've been acting these past few weeks."

"You had reason."

"So did you."

Before they could say anything they could hear someone approaching.   Mycroft quickly pulled his hands back and stood up.   Right then the nurse came back in with Sherlock on her heels.   He gave one look at Greg and his brother and went to stand on the other side of the bed.

"So I heard someone got curious?”

Greg gave a small smile and wave.  

"Sorry it was itching and well I couldn't resist."

"I should be angry but I like you, so I'll forgive you this time." Both the Holmes brothers rolled their eyes.   Greg and his ability with people.  Ridiculous.

"Thank you sister.  Won't happen again." Greg put on his most innocent look on his face, with his puppy dog eyes and he was forgiven to the unbelief of the brothers.

"Okay let's see what going on here." With quick administrations the wounds were closed with new plasters.

"I'm not going to wrap a bandage over it; it will just go to waste.   Besides you're scheduled for a thorough sponge bath later this afternoon."

"Sponge bath?" Greg hesitantly asked, looking at Mycroft.  

"You had one after the surgery and it's high time for a new one."

"Uhm, what about you know. ...? He looked down towards his crotch.

Everyone looked confused.  Mycroft was the one figuring it out.

"Nurse, he meant his catheter."

"Oh, well that depends on the doctor, if he gives the all clear, we will remove it before the bath."

"How do you remove it?" He softly asked, Sherlock gave a small grin, Mycroft rolled his eyes.  

"We pull it out of course.”

"Pull it out? Will I be unconscious? "

"Nope." He grimaced and turned to Sherlock.

"Want to knock me out?  Make it an experiment. "

Sherlock grinned wider, happy with the prospect of an experiment.   Mycroft stepped closer.

"Most certainly not.   If either of you just think about thinking of such a silly notion again I’ll take drastic steps.  Gregory you survived being shot, you can survive this."

"Myc, they’re pulling a straw out of my p..."

"Gregory."

"Well don't complain if you’re having problems with it."  The nurse chocked back a giggle and Sherlock groaned.   Mycroft just stared at him. Greg giving him a cheeky smile. 

"I'll just leave you guys to sort that one out; I’ll be back when it's time for your bath." With a small wave she left leaving the three men in the room.  

"Well since I can't knock Lestrade out I'm off too." Sherlock said as he turned.   Mycroft stopped him.

"You're going to pick up Mummy and father?"

Sherlock just nodded and left them alone.

Mycroft turned back to Greg and sat down on the chair.

"Was that necessary?"

"The straw, yup. Look how big it is My!" With that he lifted up his bed sheet to show Mycroft.  Mycroft folded his arms.  He had no intention of looking but since Greg nearly flung the whole sheet of the bed he saw more than enough.  Standing up he picked it up at the edge and rearranged it around his partner a blush on his cheeks. 

"Oh Gregory." Mycroft sounded exasperated but in fact loved it.  The little voice still telling him; how close he came to losing it.  Greg could see Mycroft mood changing. 

"My?  We should talk.  You still have mixed emotions and anger about my shooting and I still have issues with what happened before."

"Should that discussion be at this moment?"

"When?"

"Gregory."

"We need to at least discuss what happens next?"

"Next?" Mycroft knew that they should get this out in the open,  that yes Gregory was shot,  but he is getting better and he'll get out and get back to work and home,  but which one?  His stupid flat or home home, their home? Sighing he sat back down.

"Where do we start?"

"How about the dinner I missed?  Mycroft...." he didn't know where to start, what to say he only knows he feels empty without Mycroft by his side.

"Can you please sit on the bed?" Mycroft frowned at the strange request, but complied.   Greg immediately pulled him close and held him tight.   Mycroft wrapped his arms around Gregory to support himself.

"Sherlock mocked me after you called, asking me to be safe.  Said you'd be more paranoid about my safety since you wanted my forgiveness.   I'm sorry about that, because it was unfair to you.   You never have to work for forgiveness, certainly not from me.  If I can go back I'll tell you I'll forgive,  I did,  when I laid there on the floor,  my blood pouring out.   I wanted to give in so badly, but something held me back. Something told me to fight and be safe and it was you.   I love you way too much to give up on us, and more importantly I love you more than to let you lived with the guilt and pain, knowing things weren't right between us.  And that would be crueller than anything.  I'm sorry I scared you like that.  I do forgive you and if you'd still want I'd really like to come home?" Mycroft didn't talk, he was so overcome with emotions and the kindness of Greg that he just held him tighter as he cried his heart out.  As he started he couldn't stop,  he cried for the pain he caused Greg,  he cried for the love he had the knowledge that Greg forgives, forgave him before his life was threatened.  He cried knowing Greg still wants them to be together, and he cried as Greg wanted to come home.   It was more than he ever could fathom.  He just wished that he was worthy of this man's love.  

When he finally calmed down he slacked some of his tight grip but still held on. 

"I'm sorry for not telling you, I’m sorry for the grief and pain you had to live with, I’m sorry that your name and reputation was questioned. I'm sorry that you and you alone had to pay for my brother and my treachery.   I'm sorry you lost your friends.  I'm sorry for everything.   I love you and please I beg you to come home.  It wasn’t the same without you; the house was like my heart Gregory.  Empty, cold and alone, only you can lighten me up and restore the life."

This time it was Greg who cried.  Smiling they wiped each other’s tears.

"We're really insanely sentimental right now." Greg finally uttered.

"Wait till I get you home." Mycroft replied.   Greg softly laughed and just put his forehead against Mycroft's.

"Promise."

"Promise.  Now then. Moment is over, you need to get some rest."

"So do you."

"I'll get some." Mycroft stood up and pulled the chair closer.   Greg placed his hand on Mycroft's to stop him.  Mycroft frowned in confusion.   Greg scooted to one side and turned with his back to Mycroft,  opening the blanket.

"Are you sure?"

Greg just nodded.  Taking that as assurance Mycroft took of his shoes and climbed in bed behind Greg.   Resting his legs close behind Greg's he took note of the wires and placed his arm around Greg, who instantly grabbed his and pulled it to his heart.   Mycroft put his head just between Greg's shoulder and neck.  Because two wounds were right through Mycroft could see the plasters.   He gave each one a kiss before he closed his eyes.

"I love you my dearest."

"I love you. Do you want to hear something corny?" Greg whispered.

"Not really but I'll know you'll tell me."

"Do you know why she missed my heart?”

Mycroft was confused, how can that be corny? Still he played along.

"How come she missed your heart?”

"Because it was with you.   Bullet can't travel that far."

Mycroft closed his eyes.   That was so corny yes but it was one of the most beautiful things he ever heard. 

"This is one instance I'm quite fond of corny.”

It was quiet for a while, their heart beat soft and calm before Greg spoke again.

"My?"

"Hmm."

"When I go for my bath, would you be there, and will you please help me shave this hair of my face?"

"A nurse alone with my Gregory; and naked as well? She'll need a crowbar to pry my away from you." Mycroft softly joked. He was half asleep and was just about able to hear Greg's soft reply.  He knew Greg didn't mean for him to hear so he didn't. 

"How about a ring?"

 

For the first time in a long time they both got some decent rest in, Greg without the aid of medication and Mycroft because he was exactly where he was supposed to.  It was Anthea who found them, before either woke up she quickly took a picture.   Then she leaned over and touched Mycroft's arm.

"Sir?"

Mycroft was awake immediately and Greg followed.

"Anthea! Long-time no see."  She didn't try to hide her happiness.

"Detective Inspector.   You look much better."

"Thanks.   Feel much better too. How are you?"

"Busy, but well. Thanks for asking."

"Hey want to sit?”

"No thanks just brought some clean clothes for Mr. Holmes and then I got to get back to the office." Mycroft slowly climb out of bed and picked up the bag in the corner.

“Thank you my dear." He said as they exchanged bags.  She just nodded but the sparkle in her eyes was clear to see.

As she left the nurses came back. 

“Okay doctor gave the all clear to remove the catheter and then we can start the bath."

"Oh joy." Greg flatly replied.

"Don't be like that you were looking forward to it."

"The bath yes, the removal of the straw, not so much."

"It can't stay there forever you know.   Come on." She moved closer and pulled on the sheets.   Greg grabbed Mycroft's hand. 

"You better distract me."

Mycroft just pulled Greg closed and held on to his shoulders as the nurse removed the tube.

"Five minutes later it was out and both men were just on this side of disturbed.  

"Okay let's get the bath going."  They both just stared at her as she brought a bucket with warm water and soap.  Greg wanted to pull the sheet over his head and crawl into himself and Mycroft wanted to pick Greg up and ran for the hills.  Instead they just looked towards her.

"Uhmm I want his soap." Greg finally stuttered out as she picked up a normal bar.   Mycroft focused back on the task and handed her the soap in his bag. 

"Okay, shall we start first and then the beard last?" They nodded as they started washing him; it wasn't long before he felt relaxed and calmed.   It was as if with every soap and water swipe down his body the pain and suffering we're washed away.   When they were done he was wearing some comfortable boxers.   Mycroft quickly shaved him and let the nurses took the dirty water away.   He rubs some after shave on and kept his hands on Greg's cheeks.

"Feel better?"

"Hundreds.   Thank you."  Mycroft leaned closer and gave him a soft kiss, just inhaling the scent of his soap and after shave on Greg. 

This is what it's all about.   Being happy together.

 


	10. Chapter 10

1.10

 

Today was the day.  Greg could go home.  After so long in the hospital he was more than ready to go home.   Just for clarification, his real home, not the little flat he used for a few weeks, but his actual home. With Mycroft. 

In his big fluffy soft and awesome bed.  A coffee machine that delivers heaven at a push of a button. 

A bathroom with the most amazing tub and biggest shower and never ending hit water. He and Mycroft tested that. 

He wasn't a hundred percent but he was alive.   He would always have five scars reminding him how close he came to being dead.  A long period of intense therapy is awaiting, but he knows he'll be all right.  

Greg leaned back in his bed, Mycroft is on his way to help him get dressed and overlook his journey home.  He smiled.  The past few weeks he and Mycroft hadn't stop talking about anything and everything.  They made plans; they discussed his therapy and his move back home.  He didn't have to lift a finger as Mycroft took care of everything.   He did had something to say about the lack of food and anything healthy in the place,  but Greg just gave him a puppy eye look and asked how did he handle the separation. 

Sherlock was the first to enter his room.   Since the shooting he had seen Sherlock more than usual but he didn't mind.  It was nice to see him alive and well and rolling his eyes at everything, especially the open display of affection between him and Mycroft. 

"Why aren't you dressed?" Greg turned to Sherlock a smile on his lips.

"Waiting for Mycroft, he insisted on cold resistant clothes or something protective to wear."

"Why doesn’t he just put you in a bullet proof bubble?"

"Don't tempt me brother dear." Mycroft answered as he walked in, a bag with Greg's clothes. 

"Won't work, how are you going to kiss me when I'm in the bubble?" Greg retorted as he smiled at Mycroft.   Sherlock just rolled his eyes and closed the blinds so they could get dressed.   The strange thing was that Sherlock didn't left and actually helped Mycroft with the clothes.  He would stand on the other side of Greg and pulled his trousers up so that he didn't have to bend. Greg and Mycroft looked at the each other but didn't comment.  It was rare and Sherlock would withdraw if they said anything. 

It took them less than five minutes but that was the easy part.   The doctor still needed to give him the last check up and sign his release papers and get a wheelchair to move Greg out.

The whole business took them an extra hour and by the time they got to the car Greg was pale and his body was slightly shaking from the excursion.  He was practically no help and a dead weight between them as they helped him in the car.  He gave shallow breaths and clutched his chest so that his knuckles were white.  

Mycroft was real glad that Sherlock was helping him, as he would've struggled on his own.   When they arrived home, Mycroft's parents we're waiting for them and their father helped them to get Greg inside. 

The moment the door closed Greg stopped; he looked around.   It's been more than a few months since he was last here and nothing has changed.  An overwhelming sense of sentimentality and nostalgia overcame him.  He can’t believe he actually left. It was home.  It smells like home, right now there was an aroma of a home cooked meal and bread in the oven.   The smell of tea was mixed in as well and the unmistakable scent of Mycroft.  His home, their home.

He took a breath, he let go of his chest to grab Mycroft's, who read every thought and expression on his face.  He was just as emotional as Greg and didn't even try to hide it.  Greg turned towards him and just let go, he buried his face in Mycroft's neck his arms around him. 

Mycroft held him close. 

"You're home Gregory. Safe and sound."

"Yeah.  Home."  Greg mumbled. 

"Let's get you settled in?  Mummy made some soup if you're up for it."

"Hmm. Yeah.  Sounds good." He gingerly let go of Mycroft and turned to stairs.

"Yeah Love, going to need some help getting up." Mycroft moved to help him, but his father stepped up. 

"Go up ahead, open the covers and fix the pillows I'll help Sherlock." Mycroft just gave a sharp nod and went upstairs.  

Sherlock and his father both laid one of Greg's hands over their shoulders and helped him up the stairs. 

When Mycroft stepped in the room he frowned.  Everything was already set up,  the room's temperature were nice and warm,  the bed was open with pillows stacked up, the bedside table was clean,  except for a lamp and a pitcher filled with cold water,  a glass and little things he might need.  Mycroft closed his eyes in gratitude.  His father sent him up to recollect his thoughts and emotions, knowing he doesn't like to show it to everyone.   Walking to the bathroom he splashed some water on his face.   Taking a deep breath he filled Greg's glass with water and waited for them.

Greg was on his last reserve as they helped him in the bed, he was pale and sweat was rolling down his face in big droplets.  

"Thanks." He softly mumbled as they tucked him in.  Mycroft leaned over.

"Get some rest."

Greg tried to shake his head.

"Hmm. Guests, family. ....soup..."  Mycroft chuckled.

"We'll warm it up, and please do not worry about decorum." But Greg didn't hear as he was fast asleep, his face relaxing with every breath and his hands holding the duvet close.  

 

When Greg woke up it was dark outside, the house was quiet. The room was dark except for his bedside lamp and a light in the corner of the room.   Someone brought a small desk inside and Mycroft was on his laptop.  

"Hey." Greg tried to say but it came out a whisper.  Nevertheless it was enough for Mycroft to hear.  He looked up.

"Gregory." Getting up he walked over to the bed. 

"Feeling better?"

"I do. Are you working?"

"Just checking up on a few things. Brought the desk in, that way I can be close to you as well."

"I feel like this is a moment to make a joke about romance and stuff, but I can't because I appreciate the effort too much."

"Can I get you anything?  Some tea, soup?"

"Coffee would be nice."

"You're not allowed on your pain medication."

"That's just so wrong. How about some soup?"

"I'll quickly go; will you be okay for a few minutes?"

"Yes. Don't worry, not going anywhere."

Coming to a decision Mycroft leaned forward and kissed Greg.   Greg smiled into the kiss and tried to pull him closer.  Mycroft pulled away.

"If I start, I won't be able to stop."

"I’m not complaining."

"You need some food before I can give you your medicine, besides Mummy won't like it if I don't feel you."

"Where is everyone?"

"Sherlock went home and mummy and father went to a play, they'll be back later."

Greg reacquainted himself with his surroundings, he was so happy to be home.   A very small part we're still angry and hurt about everything that had happened, but he wouldn't walk away from Mycroft.   He wouldn't be able to live without him. Function yes, but live? No way.

 

  

For the past few days his mind has been working overtime. Several things were on his mind.  The biggest one being that he was ready to take their relationship further.   He wanted to, he needed to. The question is will Mycroft marry him? Does he even believe in marriage?  He'll have to talk to someone about that, but he was unsure of whom.  

Mycroft came back several minutes later, a tray laden with soup for both of them, a plate with buttered pieces of bread, a bowl with fruit and some teacups. 

"Did you bring the whole kitchen?" Greg joked as Mycroft placed the tray on the bed. Rolling his eyes he turned to the desk to fetch the chair.

"Please join me on the bed, there’s enough space."

"Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you discomfort."

"You won't."  With slow and cautious movements Mycroft relaxed against the headboard, his legs stretched out on the bed.

"My?"

"Hmm?"

"You will sleep with me in the bed right?"

"Of course.   It will allow me to be near if you need anything."

"I only need you." Mycroft lifted Greg's hand and kissed it before he placed a small bowl with soup in his hand.

"Will you be okay?"

"Can you perhaps just add another pillow behind me?"

"Of course."

They ate in silence finishing the soup and bread, Greg wasn't able to have some fruit as well so Mycroft placed that bowl on the bedside table. 

Mycroft quickly took the dishes back to the kitchen, when he came back Gregory was sleeping again.   He know that he should probably wake him up so that they can clean the wounds and put some pyjamas on, but seeing Greg so peaceful in his bed for the first time in months, his resolve faltered and he just dimmed the lights and climbed in bed.   Greg was higher up, but Mycroft didn't mind, he just rested his head on his arm and looked at Greg. 

He was still way to pale for comfort,  his five o'clock shadow was back,  his hair was lying flat and there was still deep lines of pain and suffering on his face.   Every now and then he would give a deep breath and his face contorted in pain.   Mycroft finally felt asleep in the early morning his hand clasp in Greg’s.

It took Greg another week to be able to walk to the bathroom on his own.  Mycroft's eyes filled up as he watched Greg smiling as he walked.

"Oh that's awesome! Look My, no hands" Greg joked while flexing his fingers in front of him. 

"That's wonderful Gregory, do you need help undressing?"

"Let's see how far I get, just stay close."

"Not moving."

Mycroft had to keep his hands fisted as not to step up and help Greg, was fine with the top, but it was the socks and pants and the bending that caused some discomfort.   He would take little intervals between each movement to get his breathing and pain under control.  By the time he was finished he was sweating and a little unsteady. 

"Okay let's do this.  First shower without a chair."

"I'll be with you, all the way." Mycroft assured him as he quickly undressed to his swim shorts.   Every time he helped Greg he would wear his swimming trunks in the shower.   It was just easier. 

Greg took hold of the little strings of the shorts.

“Can’t wait for you to get rid of this." Mycroft blushed as he step closer. 

"I can wait.  I waited my entire life for you, and now every moment is a treasure so I won't wish the time away.   I'm going to savour each and single moment with you, in the trunks and out of it."

"See? With words like that, how am I supposed to keep my hands off of you?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Hmm. We'll see."

 

 

Mycroft had to go back to work and his parents and Sherlock with the help of John took turns to stay with him during the day and make sure his health was improving.  It was one of those days where Sherlock was with him that he took his chance.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Does Mycroft believe in marriage?" Sherlock stopped his experiment and turned to Greg. 

"What?"

"Does Mycroft believe in marriage?  Will he say yes if I were to ask him?"

"To marry you?"

"No. To the cook. Yes me."

"You want to marry my brother?"

"Yes."

"As in holy matrimony, till death you part and so forth?"

"Yes. Have and to hold, weakness and strength and..."

"Stop before I throw up." Greg smirked; he could see the light in Sherlock’s eyes as he contemplated the scenario.

"If I we're to get a brother, Mycroft would do." Sherlock said nonchalantly.   Greg frowned, ready to correct him when the words sank in.  Sherlock likes him, accepted him as a brother and more importantly, gave his blessing.

"I need your help."

"I'm not proposing to my brother on your behalf."

Greg rolled his eyes and gave a exasperated sigh.

"No. I need you to get rid of my bike, sell it and use the money for the ring I'll design for you."

"Why don't you sell it?"

"In this condition?  And with this level of surveillance Mycroft has me under at the moment?"

"No."

"Come on Sherlock.  I don’t want him to find out.  Think of it as a challenge."

"A challenge?"

"To remove my bike out of the garage and yard without Mycroft's knowledge, nor his security detail." That seemed to do the trick, Sherlock was looking off in the distance and Greg knew he had won.  A challenge was always a good way to get Sherlock's help.

"How soon can you give me the design, and how soon to you want the ring?"

"I want two rings, if he says yes, I want a matching one.  How about two months?"

"Uhg. At least make it interesting."

"Fine.  One month."

"I'll need the design." Greg reaches into his jacket and pulled out a folded paper. 

Sherlock took the paper and opened in it. He stared for a while.

"This obviously has some meaning."

"Yes. It's something that connects us."

"He mentioned something in the hospital, when he went all emotional."

"Yeah.  You'll keep it safe right, till I ask for it?"

"Yes."

"Don't go experimenting with the rings you hear? I want it shiny."

"As if."

"And I don't want it smelling like body parts either." Sherlock just ignored him as he folded the paper and put it in his inside pocket. 

"Right.  I got work to do, think you'll be up for a walk outside?" Greg grinned.

"Around the garage perhaps?"

"Perhaps." Sherlock eyes sparkled with the new challenge and together they walk outside.

Greg didn't hear anything from Sherlock about his little errand until the month was up, he texted Greg a photo and one sentence.

"It's safe. SH."

Greg took a deep breath, looking at the photo.  He texted back.

"Thanks.  You do know you're a bit scary with your ninja skills."

"A bit? You had a nice bike. SH"

"Baby was beautiful.   Can I tell you how sexy your brother is in on it?"

"Only if I can experiment with my two new shiny objects. SH"

"Don't you dare.  Sorry. I'll keep it to myself."

"Good idea. SH."

"Do you honestly think he'll marry me if I ask?"

"Don't be an idiot.SH."

"If he had his way, he’d have married you years ago. SH."

"Thanks. Is it too soon to call you little brother?"

"The objects are going in the jar of thumbs. SH."

Greg texted back a smiley face, to be precise the one with his tongue sticking out.

 

It was another month when Greg felt like he made real progress, he even started running and exercising with Mycroft and together they managed a good workout that is safe for him to use, with his biggest plan being Yoga.  He never thought he would actually enjoy it, but he did. 

He was still off work, but he didn't need someone to be constantly with him and he was spent most days alone at home until Mycroft got home.

Greg looked at the table setting; they planned a romantic evening at home, just them. Greg was so excited, the past was finally behind them and they were together.  In his opinion, stronger than before.  Since the shooting they had talked more openly than before, Mycroft sharing more of his life and past than ever.  

They cried together, they laughed together; they took the time to make every second count, to repair every crack and dark corner of their relationship so it could bask in the potential to be the best relationship ever.  They talked about marriage and Mycroft said that even though he never thought it would be an option for him, he gladly accepted it. 

Greg was planning on proposing that very night and had asked Sherlock to bring the rings over. 

He had no idea how to pop the question or present the rings, he just know that tonight that ring should be on Mycroft's finger.

Greg removed the rings from the velvet box.  It was his design. 

Two very different; but still the same. 

One gold with fine interwoven silver strands.  Kintsukuroi in silver.

The other silver with interwoven gold streaks.  Kintsukuroi in gold.

Kintsukuroi: the art of repairing.

Greg placed Mycroft's intended ring on the table.  Shining beautifully against the black table cloth.

Mycroft must have been an artist Greg thought,  because only an artist could take the broken and cast away pieces of his heart and life and put it together again in such a way that his life is better than it ever was and for the first time in his life,  he could say he was truly happy. 

Mycroft told him once that when John Lennon was in school a teacher asked him what he wants to be when he was all grown up, and John answered "happy." The teacher then said that John didn’t understand the question and he replied saying the teacher didn't understand life.

He understood.  In this broken and cruel world, you’ve got to be happy; otherwise you are also broken and cruel in a way.

Maybe things had to happen as they did.

Maybe he and Mycroft were supposed to be broken, so they could be mended together into one masterfully and amazing art piece.

All he knows is that he can't wait to put that ring on Mycroft’s finger. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read it. I hope you enjoyed the little piece.   
> I do apologise for waiting so long to post, as it was ready some time ago and I actually thought I'd post it already. 
> 
> Please enjoy.


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